


Oh, I would shun the light

by Steele_and_Bones



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games), Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Dimension Travel, Gen, Tags May Change, because the author is incompetent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:01:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 45
Words: 50,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26529394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steele_and_Bones/pseuds/Steele_and_Bones
Summary: In one world, a desperate king and his people, willing to leave even their home to escape the light that haunts their dreams.In another, a lonely creature, the only intelligent being in their own world.Inspired by “Family in a Different Realm”.
Comments: 698
Kudos: 436





	1. The Intrepid Explorer is Introduced

The sun is just beginning to set as Thio wraps up his latest project’s roof—that took way, way too many trips to the swamplands across the savanna to find the vines for.

They wipe their brow, heavy with sweat from a hard day’s work, and look to the sky. The sun is setting over the horizon, pulling a canvas of royal blues and plum purples behind it.

Thio doesn’t skip a beat hopping down from the rooftop they just finished and onto the grass below, though it prickles their knees in soreness.

The villagers haven’t quite settled into the new houses they’ve built yet, but that’s fine. They’ll get used to them as soon as one of their iron golems begins to patrol the rough dirt paths Thio has carved.

Warm golden rays hit Thio’s face, making auburn hair and freckles glow blood red they walk away. As they walk away, the lack of a wall and gate protecting the newer ring of the village is slightly startling. Perhaps it’s a good thing that the villagers haven’t begun to settle into the second right yet. Note to self, get around to building that wall.

They leave the village unceremoniously, following a path that’s become familiar enough for them to walk it blind, back to their own home.

Thio slips inside the entrance embedded into the ground, flanked by twin banners carrying the insignia of their own design—a gold sunset sinking into a green expanse, under a coppery sky—and walk into their home with the click of a pressure plate.

They look over their shoulder as the redstone-trapped wall closes, cutting off the last rays of the sun. Perhaps they should stay up one more night? It’s been two day now since they slept at night, and tonight the phantoms will be taking flight. Some spare slow-fall potions, and a quick repair to their elytra, would be more than welcome.

But no. Thio needs to sleep, and honestly? Their face is to beautiful and unique to me marred by dark circles any longer.

Before long, they emerge into a darkened bedroom. Chests and armor stands line the walls, as well as a lever that leads to their vault. It’s always nice to have their best items an arms length away.

Armor is shrugged off and placed onto posed stands; an iron sword tinted with a faint, shimmering purple is rested on scaffolding that serves as a table; empty bottles and other whatnots are loaded into chests for the night. And finally, Thio, the builder of cities and sole sapient creature in their world, climbed into a messy nest of bright blankets, and let sleep take them.

They don’t sense a changing, a wrongness in the world. They don’t feel the shifting of reality, as a portal that was once part of their old fast-travel cart system awakens, in the heart of their beloved shattered savanna. Thio doesn’t stir, even when a creature they could never have encountered stumbles through, confused and frightened at a land shrouded in twilight.

For now, Thio sleeps, deep in dreamless rest where no higher being could touch them.

After all, they are ignorant of what is soon to come.


	2. For Nothing is Ever Truly Empty

It hits late at night, when bugs should be sleeping, though few truly sleep now, as an infection spreads through their dreams.

But of course, most believe the promise made by their king: that he can seal the infection away, that only his Hollow Knight can contain the light that haunts them.

And for years he trains them, the emotionless doll that he pulled from the void, that he sacrificed so much for and put so much hope in. For years, he believes them to be truly hollow, the one in a literal million of the children he bears the weight of discarding. 

It hits late at night, when one of these trainings takes place—the Pale King doesn’t require to sleep often, even though his Root encourages him to—and neither does the Vessel.

The King is teaching the Vessel an improved aim of white lances made of soul.

The Hollow Knight fires, sending a lance straight into a stuffed target with perfect aim. Good, their aim has improved. A small weight lifts in the king’s chest; even though he trains the Knight day and night, he can’t help but worry about their capability in a real battle.

But all is well for now. The Pale King turns to face the gardens that sit next to the combat hall, where Hegemol stands guard.

The Pale Knight sighs, not sure if the sound was from relief or exhaustion, and turns back to the Vessel’s hulking form—

The Vessel is looking back at him. Without command or prompting, the Vessel is looking back at him.

The King freezes—such a thing shouldn’t be possible, the Vessel is hollow, it doesn’t think or feel—what could have prompted—

With a sinking realization that hits him like a stone, the king knows the answer.

It’s because the Vessel isn’t hollow.

“Oh,” he says, more out of the sudden, jarring fact than of his own will. The Hollow Knight must realize it too, because it—they, jerk back, as if they were struck.

The Pale King shrinks back too, more out of the dawning, horrible realization, than out of anything else.

Everything he’s sacrificed has been for nothing. Every life he took was worth nothing, in the end.

And for once in his immortal life, the Pale King of Hallownest was at a true, total loss for words.

He paces back and forth down the hallway, his Root in the other room comforting the Vessel. Though, that’s not really an appropriate name for them any more.

Thoughts that are halfway furious and halfway devastated whirl through his mind at a million miles a minute. How could this have happened? He was a god, a king, how had he missed the signs that his Knight was never Hollow? Are they truly that good an actor, that they could fool him?

There is another option. That he did see the signs, but he was so desperate to contain that accursed Radiance that he ignored them, convinced himself that the Vessel was perfect.

But the King doesn’t like to consider that one.

There’s a flurry of whispers in the next room over, and the White Lady emerges from behind a guilds white door. The Pale King catches a glimpse of his knight, Isma, standing beside the child before the door swings shut once again.

His wife and queen all but radiates the same choking concern that he himself has felt for the last few hours.

“What do we do, Wyrm?” She whispers, her head titled down so she can meet his eyes. He looks away, folding his clowns neatly in front of him. 

“I....” he clears his throat, but the words won’t come. He doesn’t want to admit the truth, that he’s fresh out of ideas for what comes next.

The infection still runs rampant. That damnable Soul Master’s schemes have left the City of Tears in an uproar. The hospitals are overcrowded, to a point where some have begun to seal off the wings that contain the infected, if only to try and save a few of their other patients.

His kingdom was a mess,

Yes, a rotting mess, and the last thing, his last hope to seal away the goddess he’d long ago defeated was gone. The kingdom’s last hope was gone, the sacrifices of the lives lost in the Abyss were gone. The deals painstakingly made with the three soon-to-be-Dreamers were worthless, unnecessary. They would never have to dream, as there was nothing to seal away.

A memory of a celebratory fountain, right in the central plaza of the City of Tears, comes to mind.  In memory of the Hollow Knight. A memory that would never come to pass.

The White Lady presses a hand against his back, silent but still humming with a sadness the King shared.

“Is this the end?” The words are quieter than a whisper, nothing more than a rustle of air for a bug who didn’t share the light of a god that the two of them do.

The Pale King does not answer, cannot answer.

Until he can.

“No,” the King answers, still not turning to face his Root, though she startles at his strangely found resolve, “no, this....this isn’t the end. There’s still a way.”

His voice curls like he’s tasted something sour. And only the White Lady could be brave enough to ask the question.

She speaks, her voice rising over a whisper. “Then what?”

The Pale King of Hallownest turns, and looks his queen in the face with hollow, black eyes.

“We must leave Hallownest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aight, second chapter is a go. This one, at least, is longer than the last.  
> The chapter are probs going to be short, but I’ll do my best to have them at least an IPad-length long.  
> If that doesn’t make sense, I should probably mention that I’m on mobile.
> 
> Enjoy and leave a comment!
> 
> -Steele


	3. Delivery of an Urgent Message

“Leave Hallownest?!” Lurien shouts, surprising loud for one so small. Isma flinches, ears ringing. 

“I’m afraid so,” she responds gently, folding her hands in front of her waist, “the King says there is no other way. The evacuation of the citizens begins as soon as all other parties attached to Hallownest have been informed.....and have agreed.” Lurien makes a small noise of disbelief, and then turns on his heel, pacing in front of his great telescope. Half-finished paintings litter the observatory.

Isma sighs halfheartedly. She had hoped that of all the Dreamers, Lurien the Watcher would at least take the news with some dignity. Apparently not. Though, she couldn’t really be upset with him, considering what kind of news she was delivering.

“And how will we leave?” Lurien suddenly demands, his voice taking on a tone that’s more concerned than angry. “Where will we go? There is nothing beyond Hallownest, we are the only civilization. Are we simply to become wanderers with no home?”

Ah, that was it. He wasn’t angry, only panicked. Isma refrained from letting out a relived breath.

“The King says....” she trails off, but the Watcher nods as if to tell her to keep going, “that he thinks he has a way.”

“He thinks he has a way.”

“....Yes.”

Lurien sighs, shoulders slumping, but he doesn’t protest. In fact, he seems....defeated, maybe even exasperated with his King. Which is...surprising, given the blind faith to the King that Isma has seen him demonstrate in the past.

She offers the last bit of her message. “The Pale King will be consulting Monomon on the subject of our....migration. With their combined efforts, I have no doubt that we will make a successful....”

“Escape?” Lurien offered. Isma hesitated before nodding. “I suppose if that’s what the King desires......in any case, I have faith in him. Thank you for delivering your message, Knight Isma.” 

She nods and leaves the tower, passing a concerned butler on her way out. That went...better than she’d initially expected.

At least Isma wasn’t tasked with delivering the message to Herrah.

Dryya can see why, exactly, she’s been tasked with delivering the message to the Beast Queen of Deepnest, but that didn’t mean she was happy about it.

Herrah the Beast paces back and forth along the length of the small cavern where they had met. Her size didn’t allow her to make it too far on either side.

Dryya is nervous, she can admit. If she weren’t so proud, she could admit she was downright scared. The sovereign of the kingdom that lies beneath Hallownest is a subject of urban legend and scornful whispers, and even though Dryya has accompanied her king during the initial negotiations of the Dreamers project, never has she spoken to the Beast personally.

At least she managed to deliver the message without stuttering before the sheer might of Herrah.

“I see, I see,” Herrah says, her voice is deep and rough like thunder, “it is...not too sensitive an issue for Deepnest to move. Though we leave behind our home, Deepnest lies in its people,” she looks back to Dryya seemingly satisfied with what she’s been told, “we can rebuild wherever we may find ourselves.”

Dryya nods. “Then you will be accompanying the Hallownest train?”

“We will.” Herrah responds. “Though, you never specified how, exactly, we would be leaving this...area. I’m assuming Wyrm has a way?”

She double takes at the instance of the Queen of Deepnest calling the Pale King by that nickname the White Lady often uses, but she manages to proceed with the answers she was instructed to give.

“His majesty has said that he believes he has a way of leaving this place. The logic being that if we get far away enough from this place, the....light will not be able to reach us outside of her resting place,” Dryya supplies. She dares not speak the name of the light, either. They haven’t left Hallownest yet, and she’s not taking any chances.

Herrah guffaws. “He thinks he has a way! I wouldn’t expect any less.” Suddenly, she looks to Dryya with new intensity. “Tell your King that he has my acknowledgment, Knight. Deepnest will begin its evacuation.”

Dryya nods, and without ceremony, Herrah stalks off into the dark tunnels beyond. There’s no telling how the bugs below navigate the maze that is Deepnest, but at least Dryya herself has a straight shot up to the City of Tears.

But even as she leaves, she can feel some kind of strange anticipation, and she can’t tell if she’s anxious of what will soon come, or if she is very, very scared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t believe I managed to get two chapters out in like, two days. I’m kinda proud of myself, not going to lie.  
> If you’re wondering why Monomon wasn’t in this chapter, it’s because she’ll be helping with the efforts of the Pale King’s “new solution”.  
> See if you can guess what it is.
> 
> Leave a comment!
> 
> —Steele


	4. A Series of....Unexpected Events?

Monomon leaves Quirrel at the door to the King’s private working space. He seems to have been nervous enough to just be in the Pale King’s presence, she doesn’t want to poor dear to break down.

Wordlessly, she floats down the stairway, behind the King, still curious as to what exactly he has to show her. She thinks back to his message, delivered by his knight Ze’mer, that stated that he needed her help to find a way out of Hallownest, where the light either couldn’t, or wouldn’t follow.

And Monomon’ll be damned if she doesn’t feel a little smug that a veritable god is coming to her for help.

They finally reach the end of the elegant silver stairway, where the White Lady is waiting. “Good day, Teacher,” she greets warmly, “It’s a pleasure to have your company for this endeavor.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Monomon replies smoothly, “though, I’m still a little confused as to what’s exactly, I am doing here.” It’s the truth. Though she is talented, and a Dreamer, (though not really, anymore) there are few things that the King would need from her, whether concerning spells and seals, or even a way pit of Hallownest.

But here she is, and her curiosity is far too great to allow her not to proceed.

The White Lady shoots the King a scolding look, which he either doesn’t notice or is pretending not to, and he scoffs and beckons them both to follow.

The King’s laboratory isn’t much bigger than her own. Though, it’s much more narrow and enclosed than the Archives, and it lacks the acid pools. Not that the King of Hallownest would need any.

They finally round a corner into a small, cluttered room. It’s....surprisingly cramped and unorganized, for a thing owned by the Pale King. A torch sits on the wall, casting flickering gold light across the room. The White Lady has to duck to fit in the doorway.

But the only thing that catches Monomon’s eye is a....large, dark thing....sitting against the wall opposite of the entrance. It’s a little taller than she is, a rectangular....frame? Perhaps? Made of dark stone that looks to absorb all light.

She leans forward, just the slightest, and then it hits her.

The object is laced with magic.

Immediately, she turns to the King, ready to question him, but he’s already staring at her with a sort of...expectant interest.

“I see you can sense it,” he says plainly, gesturing at the dark object, “this thing is what I brought you here for. I believe it will....be our way out of Hallownest. A way where she cannot follow.” The “she” in question isn’t named. They all know who he’s speaking of.

Monomon glides closer, and the closer she goes, the stronger and more intricate the magic signature becomes. It feels....like heat, firelight, but only in short bursts. But beyond that, there’s a sort of....hollowness. Like...an entrance?

“What...what is it?” She breathes. The King hesitated, before answering.

“I believe—no, I’ve established that it’s a dormant portal frame.”

“A portal?”

“A link between two separate points in space,” he explains, gesturing with his claws in a movement that she can’t really make sense of. “If it were to be activated, it would link itself to another place. The magic is faint, but I can sense that the place it’s linked to is unlike any I’ve ever witnessed, and therefore, very far away from Hallownest.”

Monomon nods along, absorbing the information as fast as she can. A link between separate points in space, a sure way out of Hallownest and away from the light.

The only issue was how to activate it.

“Where did you get this? How long have you had it?” It feels a little improper to interrogate the King, but the situation will call for what it calls for. 

He coughs, looks to the side, like he really doesn’t want to answer. “It was....a wedding gift,” he answers carefully, “from Grimm, of course.” The White Lady makes a small noise that could be a chuckle.

“Ah, I had always wondered where you’d found this, Wyrm.” The White Lady muses. Monomon has no idea who on earth Grimm is, but she pushes the though aside. A wedding gift. That means...the King must have had the portal for a very long time. A very, very long time.

How on earth has he still managed not to use it?

As if he can tell what she’s thinking, he says, “I have had this for....a while. But I’ve never been able to figure out how to activate it. It’s never been a matter of great importance, until now. That is why I brought you here. Of all the Dreamers, you are the most knowledgeable of magic. This seems to be your area of expertise, Teacher.”

Yes, she is. She isn’t called the Teacher for nothing. But now, she regrets leaving Quirrel at the entrance. Having a bookworm who’s read most of the archives wouldn’t hurt at a time like this.

Oh well, it’s too late for regrets. She needs to get to work.

She extends one of her tentacle to the torch on the wall, which is surprisingly smooth and hard to get a grip on. She grabs it anyway, moving closer to the portal frame. The stone it’s made out of is unlike anything she’s ever seen, but it doesn’t absorb all light like she originally thought. It’s actually a dark purple and black, and the surface is bumpy and smooth. 

There isn’t a specific spell attached to it. If just seems to be imbued with magic, not in a particular pattern, but in a dormant state.

“Don’t get too close, Monomon,” the Queen suddenly says, worried, “ we still don’t know what this thing is capable of.”

Monomon is just about to answer, when the torch slips out of her tentacle, smashing right on the frame of the portal. Sparks scatter everywhere—

And a blast of infernal light nearly blinds her.

Before she knows it, she’s on the opposite side of the room as if by reflex, one tentacle ready to pull herself out the doorway. The King, too, is plastered along the back wall, as far away from the portal as he can get.

And the portal itself is glowing purple, undulating with patterns of light and dark. Monomon can make out the pattern of the wall on the other side, like the light that now fills the frame is as thin as paper.

She gulps. “Well, your majesties. Here’s your way out of Hallownest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s my next chapter! This is probably the fastest-growing work I have ever done.  
> My secret is that I write immediately after I finish my digital work from school.  
> Enjoy, and leave a comment!
> 
> —Steele


	5. Here It Goes

Efforts for evacuation are moving quicker than expected, though not without some chaos. Hegemol managed to convince the Mantis Lords to join the Hallownest party on their way out, but only on one condition:

That the Pale King’s knights aid in eliminating the Traitorous Lord who had taken residence in the far corners of the Queen’s gardens.

Ze’mer had happily agreed, though partly because she wanted style chance to destroy her lover’s infected father. Isma is unable to attend, due to taking care of the former Vessel.

“Are we sure about this?” Dryya whispers as she moves through the undergrowth, Ogrim still within earshot behind her.

“Worry not, fierce Dryya!” He declares, earning a hurried shushing from one of the mantis warriors as they creep closer to the Traitor Lord’s home. “Our King would not send us here if he had no faith that we would return. I only wish Isma were her to accompany us!” A lovestruck sigh follows, and Dryya rolls her eyes. It seems that everyone knows of Ogrim’s infatuation with Isma, except Ogrim himself.

But no matter. They have a job to do.

In less than a minute, the three Pale Knights Ogrim, Dryya, and Ze’mer, and the party of warriors and Mantis Lords who joined them, have surrounded the encampment of the infected traitors. They’re deformed beyond belief, and if the knights didn’t know better, they’d say that those bugs weren’t even mantises.

Ze’mer and the Lords head the campaign. Ogrim and Dryya lead a small group of mantis warriors to cut off any who may try to flee.

And eerie silence settles over the overgrown gardens. The shifting of the undergrowth stops as the bugs move into position.

And with the mighty roar of the eldest Lord’s voice, their charge is declared.

“ATTACK!”

“I want a status report, who did we lose in the ambush? Were there any casualties?” The King demands.

“No sir,” the retainer before him answers quickly, “the Knight Ze’mer was lightly injured, and is expected to make a full recovery. Other than that, only mantis warriors are in critical condition, their Lords proceeded unscathed.” 

The Kings sighs, relieved. “And what of the Traitor Lord?” He says.

The retainer bows and backs away. “Successfully eliminated. The injured mantises are being tended to by their tribe, and the Knights are proceeding back to the City of Tears to assist in the evacuation.” 

Wyrm nods, waving a hand to excuse the retainer. He doesn’t breath a final sigh of glad relief until they’re well out of earshot.

“See? I told you we had nothing to worry about,” his Root trills as she emerges from the hall, filling the roll with a pale white glow. Her eyes crinkle in a smile.

“I should have gone myself,” the King mutters. A sigh comes from the White Lady as she scoops him up in her branches. He’s too small to escape.

“We’ve got too much on our plate right now,” she scolds, “Monomon is moving that portal of yours to the edge of the Kingdom. If all goes well, the evacuation should proceed tomorrow. The Hive has been contacted, and they too have agreed to join our party.”

“We don’t even know where the portal leads, Root!” He cries, throwing his hands in the air.

“That’s why Monomon will test it with us tomorrow. And....” the White Lady trails off. “We don’t have much of a choice.”

She sets him back on the ground. It’s true. They’re in too deep now, and there’s no going back.

For Hallownest. For the people.

And...for the children who were sacrificed to get them this far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway, I am once again proud of myself for getting two updates in a row, even if this one is short. I still think it accomplishes plenty!  
> The evacuation is moving quickly. In the next chapter, we finally get to see what’s on the other side of that portal. Or, at least, they do.
> 
> You can kind of tell that PK has a little bit of a guilty complex for killing a bunch of kids. As he should. I mean, he’s a bit of a bitch but he’s at least a good King. Ish.
> 
> Anyway, leave a comment!
> 
> —Steele


	6. Science Time

Quirrel never thought he’d see the day when he’d be letting the King of Hallownest, and the Dreamers (besides the Madame) into the Archives, but here he is. And here they are.

He pulls the door aside, letting the King through, and he opens his mouth to say something, but a familiar voice interrupts him.

“You’re late!” Monomon the Teacher declares smugly, floating down the entrance hall of the Archives. Quirrel is stunned nearly speechless. How on earth could she talk to the King like that? The King?!

“I wasn’t aware we had a set meeting time,” the Pale King replies swiftly, with a hint of venom in his voice that Quirrel can’t believe is directed at the Madame. She, however, finds some humor in this statement, letting out a musical laugh.

“Well, don’t just stand there!” She remarks. “We have a job to do! Quirrel, follow me. You’ll want to see this.” He scurries after her, not looking back.

The group winds through the maze of tunnels and acid tanks that make up the building, Lurien complaining intermittently about the deadly liquid that’s pretty much everywhere.

Finally, they arrive in a room Quirrel has, surprisingly, never seen before. And it’s contents are even more foreign.

It’s a large, rectangular, black structure that glows a swirling purple in the middle. A humming of magic emits from it in waves. Even though he’s nowhere near as experienced with magic as the Madame or the other Dreamers, he can still sense the thick coating of mystical energy the object lays over the room.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t even more intimidated now.

“This is the portal?” Lurien breathes, sounding astonished. Madame nods proudly, beckoning Quirrel to her side, to which he follows.

The King begins to speak. “Monomon and I discovered a way to light it yesterday,” he explains, “but since then, we have not attempted to send anyone or anything through.”

Lurien hums. “Reasonable, my King. After all, we have no way of knowing where it leads.”

“And we won’t, unless we actually send something through!” Herrah argues. Her voice rolls like thunder, startling Quirrel. He’s never heard the Beast-Queen of Deepnest speak before.

“Which!” The King cuts into the argument that’s sure to break out, “is why we are here! We are preparing to test and see what we can send through, and what condition it will be in when and if it returns.” This seems to settle Lurien, though Herrah still seems skeptical.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself, your highness,” Madame says jovially. “Quirrel, do be a dear and fetch those subjects we prepared yesterday! We won’t be using a person for the initial testing, of course.”

He squeaks. “Of course, Madame!” Quirrel rushes off to grab the tiktiks that Monomon had him bring in yesterday. Then, he wasn’t quite sure what they were for, but he supposes he has his answer now.

Maybe he should be a little more careful what he wishes for.

When he returns, supplies in hand, another discussion—well, it’s more of a debate—had broken out among the Dreamers. Lurien looks to be wanting an object to be sent through first, like a nail or something of the sort. Herrah argues that a sentient bug should go, and is volunteering herself.

“I’m the only one with proper combative capabilities here,” she says dryly, over Lurien’s huffing. “And I don’t think the Wyrm’s going to do it.” She gives a pointed look to the Pale King, who returns a glare.

He slips between the two larger bugs and hands the terrarium of tiktiks to the Madame, who then ushers him to the side.

“Both of you, settle down,” Monomon says lightly, earning herself a venomous glare from the tiny Watcher, “we have our supplies right here.” She victoriously brandishes the sparse items that Quirrel fetched from the storage room.

“That,” Lurien says, “is a piece of twine and a couple tiktiks.”

“An astute observation, Your Shortness.”

The King finally sees this as a fit time to break the banter between the Dreamers, and interjects. “We’ll be sending a small creature through first, and then pulling it back,” he says tiredly, as if he’s a father watching over his squabbling larvae, “to determine if the temperature and conditions of the other side are suitable for bugs. Then, and only then, will we send through a bug capable of higher thought.”

That statement silences the fighting between Herrah and Lurien, who both look somewhat eased by it.

Monomon hands the container back to him, and Quirrel gets to work tying the thin twine around the tiktik in a relatively secure manner. Once he’s done, he hands the end of the string to the Madame.

“Thank you, Quirrel,” she says breezily, and hoists the panicked-looking tiktik up to her level. She floats over to the humming entrance of the portal and sets the tiny bug down on the ledge of it.

It crawls forward, and the minute it touches the swirling purple vortex, it just...disappears.

Herrah blinks. “That was...” she says, “unexpected.” Lurien nods in a rare moment of agreement.

“I can’t hear anything from the other side,” the short Dreamer adds.

The twine pulls taught, signaling that the tiktik is moving. “Still alive, at least.” The Madame comments. 

Judging by the way the string moves, the bug hasn’t moved far away from the entrance of the portal on the other side—wherever that may be. But at least it means that it’s not a death trap on the other side—there must be some room to move around, somewhere to go.

He lets out some tension he didn’t know he was holding. Maybe...maybe this really was their ticket out of their sickness-riddled kingdom.

The Pale King looks very satisfied at the outcome of the experiment, and if Quirrel didn’t know better, he would say that the King even looks....relieved.

Well, if anyone could save Hallownest and please the king, it was his Madame. He allows himself some small swell of pride at that.

But his thoughts are broken when suddenly, the twine moves, faster than lightning made by an electrified lumafly, and yanks itself out of the Madame’s tentacles—

And right to the portal entrance.

Without thinking, Quirrel leaps forward, hands outstretched, grasping for the end of the string and—

He hits the sea of purple, and is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go. Three chapters in a week, I think this is a new record for me.  
> So what do you think? What’s awaiting our boy Quirrel on the other side?
> 
> Leave a comment!
> 
> —Steele


	7. The Other Side

Quirrel barelyhas time to brace before he slams into a hard, warm surface that presumably supporting the portal frame on the other side. He feels dizzy, like gravity was turned upside down on him.

Well. It’s possible. Considering how little they know about this portal and where it leads. But now....

Now, he’s getting to see with his own eyes.

Quirrel struggles to his feet, finding that the dizzying sensation is quickly leaving him. Wherever he is, it’s very...warm. Not in the humid, summery way that the Archives and the Fog Canyon are, but in a more arid, dry way.

Finally, he’s on his feet and looking straight ahead.

And Quirrel is greeted by a sight that he could never have imagined, not even in his wildest dreams.

He’s standing on a floor made of foreign black bricks, the portal at his back and in the middle of the room. The walls are made of the same black bricks, but patterned around the middle with a band of the same unearthly purple stone that the portal is made of. Lanterns that glow an eerie blue hang from the ceiling from chains.

And right it front of him, there’s an exit tunnel—only a few steps long; it seems the room where the portal resides is set into some kind of mountain or hill. The exit is wide open.

Quirrel rubs his eyes with one hand, the other steadying itself on his nail. Could the sight he’s beholding really be real? Or is this some sick, twisted dream? An afterlife? He pushed those thoughts aside, and stumbles towards the exit.

He doesn’t even seem to notice a very distressed tiktik that’s fallen into a crevice outside the tunnel, in soft red stone. What’s in front of him is far, far too distracting.

He emerges into a huge, open, cavelike world, that seems to stretch forever in front of him. Everything is made of soft, red rock like the stuff beneath his feet. A sea of liquid rock, hotter than anything he’s ever seen, bubbles a great distance below him. He can just make out the shape of some bipedal creature waddling through the ocean of magma, though he can’t fathom how anything could live down there.

Waterfalls made of the same lava pour down from the ceiling of the cave, flanked by porous yellow stone that glows brightly.

In the distance, he can make out another landform—but this time, it’s separated in two. On one side, brown stuff coats the normal red, a pillars of stone rise from ceiling to floor. Some kind of white frame pokes out from beneath it, eerily resembling a shell.

And on the other side...huge, blue-green fungi rise from the earth and coat the floor in turquoise. Green stalks reach towards the ceiling. Orange-yellow lights peak out from under the roofs of the fungi.

For a moment, Quirrel just stands there, taking it all in. The foreignness, the quiet bubbling of liquid stone, the softness of red earth beneath him. It’s so....strange. And...oddly beautiful. Even though something tells him that it’s dangerous, that he should run and hide and go back to the Archives, he just....stands there.

Looking. For just a moment, at the world that the bugs of Hallownest are supposed to escape through.

Until something blue in the corner or his vision catches his eyes. Blue like the lanterns in the portal room—someone had to have built those, built that place. Something capable of higher thought.

For the first time, the reality of that hits him head-on.

They might not be alone in this strange dimension. And he can’t decide if that thrills him, or if he’s absolutely terrified.

But when he turns, its not a lantern that greets him. Off to the side of the portal entrance (which is set into a wall of red stone, just like he suspected) there’s a long stick with a blue flame sputtering atop it.

Quirrel blinks. A...torch?

No, not just a torch. If he looks ahead of it, he can see another, then another, and another. The pattern disappears into a foggy crimson atmosphere, but it’s clear to him what he’s seeing.

A trail. Whoever or whatever built the portal, left a path to somewhere else. Something like fear or excitement ignites below Quirrel’s shell. Someone is out there, someone who most likely knows this dimension better than any of them do, is out there and left a path. It’s practically an invitation to follow.

There’s a chance that whoever it is, isn’t friendly. Dangerous, even. It could be a trap, could lead them straight to their deaths, but what other choice do they have?

He would never admit it, but in that moment, Quirrel felt excited. Maybe even....looking forward to when Hallownest would leave its home underground. He wants to explore this dimension, see the valley of brown and white and the forest of blue on the other side. Study the creatures wobbling through the magma below.

But for now, Quirrel backs into the entrance, grabbing the tiktik out of the hole it fell into as he goes.

And he flees back into the portal. Back into Hallownest and to the council of Dreamers and royals on the other side.

And gods, does he have a story for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aight loves, I’m finally back. Sorry about the break. Anyway, here you go! My updates may be a little more spaced from now on, as I have to go back to school in person.  
> Enjoy the update and leave a comment.
> 
> —Steele


	8. The Selfish Heart Wants what it Wants

The Pale King wrings his fingers almost painfully. It’s been hours since he came back to the White Palace, from the Archives far above. He almost swore very colorfully when that little assistant of Monomon’s tumbled into the portal after the tiktik—only to emerge moments later chattering to Monomon quite excitedly.

Well. At the very least, as his Root had later pointed out, the little assistant wasn’t dead.

He’s grateful that the retainers have been dismissed from the palace as he walks the halls. They’ve all gone back to their families, to pack and collect their things. Right at the entrance of the wastelands, is where the portal will soon be moved. There, to where the people of Hallownest, Deepnest, the Hive, and the Mantis tribe will proceed.

Grimm’s portal. He wonders idly, if Grimm, being as aggravating as he is, always knew how to light it and where it went. The heat and fire described by Monomon’s little assistant suggested it’s the kind of place the nightmare’s vessel would enjoy.

But that’s of neither here nor there. Already, the evacuation has gone from “perfectly on schedule” to running behind schedule.

The City of Tears is far too large to evacuate quickly—he knew this from the start—but what’s happening there right now is a veritable nightmare. There are some who refuse to pack up, thinking it a mistake, and others still who are trying to take more than the allotted amount they’re allowed to carry. Which is, as long as they can carry it, they can bring it.

Perhaps he should leave those stubborn few behind. They don’t seem to believe even his world—and he’s their King. If they’re too hardheaded to go...

Suddenly, an image of a dark pit filled with dozens of broken masks come to mind. It’s that of a desperate, immoral plan, made by a King with nothing left to lose. Or so he thought.

He shakes the image from his head. No. He’s already left enough people behind. He won’t leave his own citizens to become slaves of the Radiance, just to save some time.

The King rounds a corner, still lost in thought, and almost rams into the former Hollow Knight.

They flinch back, immediately bowing shakily, just as Wyrm was about to apologize.

“O-oh,” he says tentatively, “that’s—that’s not necessary. There’s no one else here...child.” They look up. Even though there’s nothing behind that blank white mask, the Pale King can almost see the confusion in the vessel’s eyes.

They pull back and to the side, as if to let him pass by. But the King doesn’t move an inch.

He breathes. A hundred words he hadn’t realized he was practicing suddenly come to mind, and he’s speaking before he can stop himself.

“I owe you an apology,” he says, looking the little vessel’s eyes. With a pang, he realizes that they’re a good bit taller than him. Something he never noticed with all the bowing. “The things I did—they shouldn’t have been done. I have no excuse. You no long must think of yourself as hollow, or even my knight if you wish. But—“ he trips over his words for just a moment. “If you would think of me not just as a King, but as a parent, then I would think of you as my own.”

Silence. A stillness that yawns through the high-roofed caverns and passages of the White Palace. The King himself is taken aback. Why did he say that? When did he ever even think to say that?

It’s the truth, though. That, he can’t deny. This child, this knight, is his. Born of god and void. His child. That is an undeniable fact. And perhaps, he knew somewhere deep down that he needed to say it.

To give the child he’d put through hell, some hope.

The vessel just sits there, silent. They look....dumbfounded. Not quite sure how to respond. A pang seizes in Wyrm’s gut. Did he say something wrong? Has he only made things worse.

But then the vessel moves. It stands beside him, not behind as they did when they were still a knight. But at his side like—

Like his own child.

They say nothing more as they walk the halls, side by side. Nothing needs to be said.

For now, they’re just a King and his child.

_A father. A father. Not just a king, but a father._

_A lie? No, the king never lies. But the Hollow Knight never speaks, never thinks._

_Do not speak, do not think, do not hope. Do not._

_But now, they can. Their world came crashing down when they slipped, made a mistake. Everyone knows. Everyone is disappointed in them. They failed as the Hollow Knight._

_And now they are useless._

_But the Pale King offers them to become his own child. Unfathomable. Unrealistic._

_But their heart sings. A father, a love, a family. They try to stop themselves from wanting, but impossibility is undeniable._

_So they walk side by side with the King—with their father. For just a few moments, their failure is forgotten, a long lost history._

_And their selfish heart screams._

_ Yes. Yes. Yes! _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at it again with the consistent updates, boys. I hope you enjoy the long awaited perspective of THK!
> 
> Leave a comment!
> 
> —Steele


	9. The World Doesn’t Mourn

The time has finally come. The City of Tears is empty, hollow like the shell of a long-dead beast. The hospitals have been barricaded, to keep the infected from following. The crossroads are trampled with the marks of thousands of bug’s small feet. And for once, the stagways and railways have fallen silent, haunted not by the trains the King built or the ancient beasts that came before.

The Pale King looks over the sea of masked faces. The black and gold of the Hive’s residents mingles with the muted grays and blues of Hallownest’s bugs, interspersed with the dark and scuttling denizens of Deepnest. The jewel-like greens and blues of the mantis warriors tower over all else, with their Lords walking among the common bugs.

In all his years, he never thought he’d see such a sight. It’s a little upsetting that he only witnesses such unity during the fall of his own kingdom.

The portal is set up just a few steps behind him. Herrah has already gone through a couple of times to scout out a route, and eliminate any threats. So far, she’s only come across strange, rotting creatures that carry golden nails. The way she describes them is uncomfortably reminiscent of the Radiance’s undead husks, but they don’t seem to be hostile so far.

The procession into the hellish dimension has been carefully planned. The Pale King in the very front, accompanied by the former Dreamers, with carve a path. His knights and the most capable of the Mantis Warriors with flank the train, protecting the civilians from any harm that might befall them. Deepnest’s weavers, however, seem to have taken to the middle of the formation, guarding a little speck of red and white that he can just barely make out.

Oh, it’s Hornet. He casts a look to Herrah, who’s beside him. Of course she would put her finest warriors to work protecting her daughter. Their daughter, he reminded himself. Perhaps, when they reached a safe place, far away from the Radiance, he would introduce the young vessel to Hornet. After all, now that the child was his, the two of them were siblings.

The vessel themselves had silently insisted on accompanying him at the front of the train. He sat picking at the dirt a few steps away from the King.

Monomon floated up to him, clutching several clipboards in her many tentacles. “That’s the last of them,” she said, tipping her head to the ocean of bugs.

“Are we sure?” He replies. “I don’t want to risk leaving anyone behind.”

“How dare you question my counting abilities?” She shot back primly. “I know I wouldn’t _dream_ of questioning yours!”

He glares at her dryly. “How long have you been waiting to make that pun?”

“This entire time.”

He sighs heavily as Monomon cackles softly. At least someone is having fun. He just wishes it were him.

“But anyway, yes, this is everyone,” she finishes, “from Hallownest, the Hive, and the mantis tribe. Herrah saw to her own counting, of course. I suppose she’d know her citizens better than we do, eh?”

“That does make sense,” he says flatly. She sighs exaggeratedly, muttering something under her mask about how he’s no fun. He sees her float back over to Lurien, who is followed by a small butler. Probably to continue making short jokes at him, which is...a little personally offensive, given that the King is the same size as the watcher.

It’s only a few moments until the bickering dies down. All the people of all the kingdoms have been accounted for. It’s time.

The Pale King looks one more time, over the ocean of shells, and to the misty and dull entrance of his kingdom. It’s...less beautiful that he thought it would be. Less of a significant moment. The world doesn’t pause for a second to acknowledge this great exodus. To acknowledge the end of an era.

He turns back to his Dreamers, to the small vessel who now stands, nail in hand, beside him.

“It’s time,” he says. They all nod, Monomon silent for once. Even Herrah is solemn.

He summons a portion of magic behind his hands, ready to form lances at any moment, to defend himself and what’s left of his kingdom.

And the Pale King leads his survivors through the portal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in two days, let’s go boys. The time we’ve all been waiting for has finally come! Sorry it took so long. I know the fic moved slow, which can be kind of annoying, but I’m doing my best to get to the point.
> 
> Leave a comment!
> 
> —Steele


	10. Final Passage

The hellish dimension is....strangely quiet. Other than the rustling of hundreds of bugs traveling across the uneven landscape, and the bubbling of molten rock, there’s nothing. No ambience.

They’re not even that far into their journey, but the Pale King still has magic under his hands, ready to defend his people should this strange place be unwelcoming. If he wanted, he could turn the party around and go back to that small, black portal room.

But it’s not like that’s actually a choice.

He turns around. At the end of the long trail of bugs, there’s a familiar silver-white of his Knights’ armors. That means that the last of the people of Hallownest, Deepnest, the Hive, and the Mantis tribes have come through.

It pains him to think that now, the kingdom he raised and built is an empty, hollow shell.

They keep going forward. Sure enough, there is a trail of eerie blue torches that leads into the horizon—or, the edges of the red caves. There’s no sky here, and no horizon.

“What a desolate place,” he hears Lurien breathe quietly.

“Indeed,” he adds.

“Not to be rude or anything,” Herrah’s rough voice suddenly interjects, “but I don’t think we can settle here. There’s heavy magic here, and it doesn’t seem all that friendly. We should be on our guard.”

“I don’t intend to have us settle here.” He looks at Herrah, her face unreadable, decorated with a six-eyed mask. “The idea is that we can pass through this place to somewhere else. This can’t go on forever. Potentially, there’s another portal on the other end of this trail, and it’ll lead us to a completely foreign place. Maybe, hell, even another kingdom!”

Monomon suddenly breaks her uncharacteristic silence. “What worries me is, who set this trail down? There’s obviously intelligent life here. So that means there’s a higher being somewhere here. That’s what’s bothering me.” She does have a point. There must be some kind of god in this place. The air is saturated with old magic, the kind that only comes when a god has either moved on....or is gone forever.

But the torches haven’t run out of fuel, so they’re relatively recent.

“I think,” the King says quietly, “that we’ll just have to wait and see what we encounter.” The group falls silent after that.

They keep moving. The ground is on fire in some places, and it doesn’t seem to be going out. Monomon’s assistant is cheerfully discussing theories about fuel and plant life with her as they move on.

The huge cavern of this dimension is much more detailed than the King originally thought. In some places, little cloudy why crystals poke out of the soft red rock, or bulbous golden material. Long streams of magma flow from the ceiling, filling the air with a slightly burning smell. There’s no plant life to be seen.

In fact, the only living thing that he’s seen so far were a pair of bipedal, whispered creatures with broad faces, walking in the molten rock. Which was, to put it lightly, mildly off-putting, and resulted in him having to keep some clueless nobles from getting themselves boiled and trying to touch it.

At least the trail of blue torches was consistent, and didn’t suddenly trail off. It would have been disastrous if they hit a dead end.

The group rounds around a huge, steep hill, and a shockingly flat area comes into view. But that’s not even the most shocking part.

He can see what’s definitely the remnants of a battle. Craters in the red rock and debris scattered all around, as if the ground were blown up. Fire coats the land around the disturbances. Almost every surface is set aflame.

Suddenly, something tugs at his sleeve. He looks to his side to see the vessel, pointing with a gnarled claw at something on the field.

At the same time, Herrah whispers in a strangely wondrous tone, “my gods, would you look at that.”

He’s about to demand to know what the big deal is, but then something out of place catches his eye amongst the debris and flame.

At the back of the field, a strangely shaped stone nail is jammed into the ground.

His heart drops. So it’s true. There is someone here. And whoever they are, they definitely met some trouble in this place.

“Um, your majesty—“

But what could have caused such destruction? It couldn’t have been the undead creatures that Herrah reported, they weren’t hostile. 

“Your majesty—“

Could it have been the lava-walking creatures from earlier? They didn’t seem hostile, but in this place, one could never be too sure—

Something collides with the back of his horns whacking his head forward. He whirls around, ready to yell at Herrah for her offense.

She’s pointing into the sky with one of her many hands. “For gods sake, Wyrm, look!” 

What the hell, what could be up there’s that’s so important—

He looks up.

Oh.

Up in the sky, a huge, enormous creature floats in the air. It’s white, with a multitude of tendrils moving as if in slow motion. Little gray flaps, almost like gills, line its sides.

A high, mournful sound that’s obviously coming from it rips through the air. “What,” he whispers, “is that thing.”

Monomon answers him. “Not sure, my King.” She admits. “Think it’s friendly?”

“I don’t want to find out.” He replies. “Do you think we can go around it?”

She shakes her head, and points with an iridescent tendril towards the trail of blue torches. Just as luck would have it, it passes straight under the ghastly creature. Damnit.

“Want me to take care of it?” Herrah asks, her hand drifting to the giant nail strapped to her back. He shakes his head. 

“We have no idea what it’s capable of. It might not even be hostile.” Monomon protests. Of course she, as a scholar, doesn’t want to destroy a foreign creature. She must be having a field day right now. But it isn’t the appropriate time to be conducting a study, as much as the King himself would like to.

The huge white creature suddenly drifts a bit closer, then abruptly turns to face the group. It takes all his willpower not to summon a pair of lances and send them flying at it. It floats closer, closer, until it’s only a few nail-lengths above them. It’s face is made of muddled gray features, outlining a pair of eyes and a mouth.

Silence.

“Well,” Monomon whispers, after a second, “looks like it’s friendly—“

SKKRAAUGHHH!

He barely has time to grab Lurien by the back of his cloak, and jump away before a ball of flaming spit explodes right where the two of them were both standing.

“No, Monomon, I don’t think it is,” he hears Herrah say, accompanied by the screech of her unsheathing her nail. The King sets a miffed Lurien back on the earth. In an instance, five white lances surround each of his hands. The civilians have pulled back as far as they can go, huddled away from the danger.

This time, he’s ready. When the ghostly creature’s eyes and mouth light up red, and dodges out of the way before the fireball can hit, and in a single moment, sends a white lance flying at it.

It passes right into the creature’s still-lit mouth, and with a final ear-shattering screech, it dies. It’s body, strangely enough, turns to smoke, but something small and white drops from it just as the last bit of it’s body disappears.

Monomon catches it, but it promptly slips out of her grasp.

What plops onto the ground is a small, silver drop of....something. He picks it up, and is surprised to feel that it’s some sort of super-viscous liquid. Any other liquid would slip throw his claws, but the surface tension of the strange substance made it something between a solid and a liquid.

And it was saturated with magic. But strangely enough, it wasn’t destructive like the fire-spitting creature it came from. It was....a healing magic. Regeneration.

“Can I have that?” He almost jumped at the sound of Monomon’s voice being so close, and it turns out she’s leering over him.

“No.”

“Fair enough.”

Lurien and Herrah went to reassure the civilians. The glow of the cerulean torches is still visible, which is good. That means the white ghostly animal didn’t destroy their only trail.

In no time at all, the procession is moving again. They pass through the flat field, and he makes sure they leave the stone nail alone. 

After a while, they stop and rest. There’s a bit of commotion when the people realize that any water they brought on their journey has mysteriously disappeared, which sends Monomon and her little assistant into a scientific frenzy. 

Finally, they come across another structure, probably left by whatever left the torches down. It’s a tall archway, tall enough to let Herrah through easily, but made of a light gray stone that stands out against the fiery tones of this netherworld. In fact it reminds him a little of the cobbled roads in the City of Tears.

When he passes through, he emerges into a large, secluded cavern and—

A row of torches, both orange with normal fire and blue, as if ceremonially arranged, leading up to a portal.

As soon as he sees it’s he feels a tension he hadn’t known he had release. Finally. I way out. A way out of the doom he’d unintentionally sentenced his citizens to.

A small celebration is in order, as soon as all the civilians are inside the cavern. Food and drink are passed around, and it’s both strange and reassuring to see the beasts of Deepnest, side by side with Hallownest’s nobles and builders, and the bees. The mantis warriors and Lords sat hand in hand with the same bugs they shunned from their corner of Hallownest.

The Pale King sits near the portal, his Root and his child next to him. His child. It still feels strange to think of the vessel as his own, but Root was delighted to have a child. Though it seems quite confusing to the little vessel, being showered with love and affection from the White Lady.

Speaking of which.

“Vessel,” he says, getting the child’s attention, “since you’re no longer confined to the title of Hollow Knight, is there anything you’d like to be called?”

“Oh! A wonderful idea, Wyrm!” The White Lady exclaims, loosing the vessel from her arms. The vessel tips their head from side to side, as if considering. It’s not like they can say anything, he remembers. He never gave the vessel’s the ability to speak.

“Does anything appeal to you?” The King questioned lightly. “Like....hmmm....I’ve always liked the name Soul. Spirit? Ivory? I mean, we can’t just call you Hollow Knight-“

The vessel perked up, nodding. The Pale King furrowed his eyebrows, taken aback. “You...want to be called Hollow Knight?” The vessel shook their head. They held up both hands, with one finger out from each fist. They put them together, then pulled one away from the other and dropped the other hand.

Whatever they were trying to say was beyond Wyrm, but the White Lady seems to know what they mean.

“Oh!” She says, eyes crinkling in a smile. “Hollow! Is that what you want to be called?” It wasn’t the worst name. But he felt a bit strange, thinking about calling his child a name that was basically still a title.

The vessel shakes their head, and points right at the Pale King’s crown.

It hits him like a brick. “Hallow. For Hallownest.” They shake their head vigorously.

The King smiles. “I think that’s a wonderful choice, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ladies and gentlemen. Three updates in three days. And this is arguably the most important so far.
> 
> So, I will give you a special tidbit.
> 
> The original draft of this story follows the same storyline, but when the bugs inevitably arrive in the Overworld, it’s empty of intelligent life. The find a book detailing the last letter of a person who claimed to be the only sentient being in the world. This world was full of amazing structures, beacons, even huge castles in the nether, and giant farms. That person lived there for a while, but the weight of loneliness led them to “leave” the world, essentially disappearing. In the book, they say they never intend to return, probably.
> 
> But then some time into the story, the do. And they welcome the bugs, let them inhabit the buildings they built, and they end up babysitting Hornet a lot. They eventually were supposed to gain the name Cendrillion. 
> 
> I switched over to Thio’s story because it would be easier for me to write. But I do intend to write other Hollowcraft stories!
> 
> I hope you found that interesting, and you enjoyed the chapter. Next chapter....
> 
> Thio will return.
> 
> Leave a comment!
> 
> —Steele


	11. The Point of No Return

“I’ll go through, accompanied by some of my Weavers,” Herrah affirms, arms crossed. “I’d like to see what’s on the other side myself.” Monomon nods along, a little too enthusiastic for the King’s liking. They’re both bugs of science, but he feels sometimes that Monomon is willing to take too many risks.

“Myself and Quirrel shall go as well,” she offers.

“Is your assistant capable in combat?” Lurien asks, leaning forward.

Monomon laughs. “Oh, don’t worry your tiny little head about that. Quirrel is more than capable of handling himself. And so am I. The only question left is, will our illustrious King allow us to go?”

You know, sometimes, he’s pretty sure that Monomon the Teacher doesn’t have an ounce of respect for anyone. Not even herself.

“While I am....reasonably worried about sending two of my Dreamers through a foreign portal and into potentially dangerous waters—“

“Former Dreamers!” Monomon interrupts. He glowers at her.

“Former Dreamers.” He amends carefully. “I’m hesitant, but myself and Lurien must keep watch over my people. And Herrah’s. If you feel you’re capable, you are more than welcome to take on this scouting mission.”

Herrah settles back, eyes cool. “It’s settled, then. I’ll gather a few of my best. Monomon, shall we leave together?”

Monomon gives the floating-tentacle-bug equivalent of a shrug. “Sounds safe to me. Quirrel and I are ready to go whenever you are.” The Beast queen nods back, and her heavy footfalls follow her into the crowd.

Lurien mumbles from his place next to the Pale King. “Did Quirrel even agree to go?” He says sardonically. Monomon shoots him a look that’s half dismissive, half intentionally provocative.

“Don’t be silly,” she coos, “Quirrel would never pass up an opportunity to explore a foreign land! But I supposed your point of view of all this is so  small,  Lurien.”

The Wyrm stalks away to join his Root and Hallow, not wanting to listen to another heated argument between the two. Monomon had been mercilessly harassing Lurien since the day they met, and the Watcher always rose to the bait without fail.

....That’s not to say that the Pale King has never done the same. Monomon is scarily talented at getting under peoples’ shells.

For now, he just wants to be with his family. Gods know that things are about to get very, very hectic.

Thio jolts awake with a real start, a sharp feeling of something in their chest that’s so heavy it’s painful. It’s the same feeling as the time they were chased by a wither skeleton and jumped off the fortress walkway and into lava just out of desperation, or the time they were thrown from the first End island by the Dragon and only managed to survive by throwing a pearl. Pure, raw, fight-or-flight instinct.

They jump bolt upright in bed, cold sweat clinging to their skin like armor. It takes them a moment to realize that they’re in their own home, in bed, and that there’s no mobs or dragons or wither skeletons anywhere around them.

They suck a deep breath in, and then they let it out. Holy hell, their heart feels like it’s going a million miles a minute. Are they shaking?

Something tells them that they couldn’t get back to sleep even if they tried. It wouldn’t be comfortable anyway. They still have their day clothes on, not even bothering to change into their nightclothes when they got back from the village.

Welp. There’s no point in sleeping now.

Thio slings themself of the bed, squinting as their eyes adjust to the light. For some reason, they could never sleep right during the day, but it could be bright as daylight in their bedchambers and they’d still sleep like the dead. Just another one of those things that don’t make sense.

It takes them a few minutes to change out of their dirty day clothes and into another pair—their favorite thin peony-colored shirt with no sleeves and no back, and a pair of brown pants. They pull a stack of dirt out of a chest and load it on. One can never be too careful. They always kept some wood, some coal, some iron, and plenty of food on them at all times. That system had saved them from many, many desperate situations.

Thio doesn’t bother to comb their messy hair. They’ll just do it in the morning. There’s no telling what time of night it is, but it’s not like anyone’ll see them. There’s no one else in the world who could care.

They begin to pull a pair of weathered iron boots on. But then their heart sinks again, with that strange feeling of danger. Anticipation.

For some reason, Thio feels like they should wear their good gear tonight. They couldn’t tell why. But they pulled their enchanted diamond boots (mending and protection IV, thank you End Cities) and put them on. They don’t bother getting their diamond leggings. Mobility is too bad in those. Instead, Thio puts on their enchanted netherite chest-plate and pauldrons, and their favorite orange and gold cape. 

They’re just about to grab their best sword, and then they decide against it. Oh, it’s not like they’ll need it. And they don’t like to take it out too much anyway. They haven’t been able to get a mending book for it yet.

Instead, Thio grabs a battered iron sword, and their best bow, plus some spare arrows. Whatever. They’ll just take a walk tonight.

Actually.

They haven’t been to the shattered savanna in a while. And it’s less than a field away, since it’s visible from the village. They have been thinking about building something out there....

They press a hand to their chin dramatically, even though there’s no one around. It just feels right, right now.

Shattered savanna it is then.

They wind through the oak-and-jungle halls of their base, and the clicking and shifting of their redstone door follows them out into the night. There’s no moon in the sky.

Thio doesn’t even remember what they were doing last new moon. Small thingsare just harder and harder to remember lately, especially in those hazy hours when they don’t even feel like themself. There’s no one for them to say it to, for them to talk to, but themself. 

But right now’s right now, so it’s doesn’t really matter.

So, Thio walks off into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHAHAHAHAHAH
> 
> YOU THOUGHT IT WOULD BE PK AND THE BUGS, BUT IT WAS ME, THIO!
> 
> I GOT TWO CHAPTERS OUT IN ONE DAY LET’S GOOO
> 
> thank you all for your feedback! You all give me unimaginable amounts of motivation and serotonin.
> 
> —Steele


	12. Closer and Closer

Quirrel feels slightly nauseous, mostly excited, and very, very terrified. The only thing keeping him anchored as he goes through the portal, the Madame at his side, is the weight of his nail at his hip.

When the world comes back into focus, he has to adjust his eyes to the darkness after being in that glowing hellscape for so long. It’s blessedly cool here, as opposed to the heat of the red world.

As soon as his vision adjusts, he knows he’s in a cave. It’s smaller and more cramped than the huge caverns of Hallownest. But he can hear water running and dripping in the distance, implying that the system goes on for a while. The only question left is, how deep are they?

Monomon sighs dramatically next to him, floating away from the portal’s sinister purple light. “Almost like home, isn’t it?” She says dryly. He suppresses a snicker at her tone.

“Of course, Madame,” replies Quirrel innocently. There’s a humor in those statements that only the two of them can understand.

“What are you two on about?” Herrah sighs, stepping away from the portal. She swivels her head to survey the area, obviously not impressed. He can’t really blame her. This place is so small, her horns scrape the ceiling and she has to keep her head bent not to hit it on the stone up top.

In the end, Herrah opted not to bring her Weavers with her. It was a split-second decision, but she chose to leave them to guard her daughter. Quirrel has a feeling that if that strange, fire-spitting white creature hadn’t shown up before, she would have stuck with her decision to bring the Weavers.

Monomon drifts around the room, craning her neck to look at every little thing. Her tentacles emit a faint green glow in the room. He can see unlit torches placed randomly along the walls. The only light in the room comes from a lantern that glows a disconcerting orange, and the light of the portal.

Herrah wastes no time at all. “We should split up,” she says, “cover more ground at once. We may be close to the surface, so try to find some trails. I wouldn’t be surmised if whoever left the torches has something here, too.”

Monomon nods, looking towards the singular exit. Her body language indicates that she wants to get this party started, and so does he.

“Quirrel,” the Madame says, “you and I will head upwards. Herrah, you can go wherever you wish. Remember, this is just a scouting mission. We’ll look around for an hour at most, and then return to the King. But our first and foremost mission is to find a way out of this cave. Seriously, only Lurien could ever live in here.”

Herrah snorts, and very swiftly for her size, breezes through the tiny entrance. Quirrel follows her, but turns in the other direction. There’s a fork in the cave system up ahead. One leads upwards, and the other leads out.

He notes a tiny yellow flower growing in a patch of dirt next to the tunnel leading up. It’s nice to know that this area is at least hospitable enough to support flora.

The Madame, as expected, goes into the tunnel leading out, bidding him an ominous farewell and good luck as she goes.

And Quirrel climbs up, away from his Madame and his kingdom, into the unknown.

The savanna grass is up to Thio’s knees. Which isn’t that annoying, but their boots keep getting tangled.

They bury an arrow in a skeleton’s head from a good distance, away killing it instantly. It looks and turns to smoke, dropping something that they can’t really see from this far away. They don’t go to pick it up.

Tonight’s a good, clear night, even if the lack of moon makes it hard to see. Not too many mobs out, either. Nope that they can’t snipe, anyway.

The shattered savanna is just up ahead. A huge mountain juts out of the earth, and even from a good space away, Thio can see the color change of the grass from dull yellow to vibrant green. 

Their lips curl into a small smile as they keep walking. Some kind of walkway system, built into the mountains would be good. The shattered savanna has some crazy geography, so it’d look goo to have rooms built into the mountains, with walkways connecting them. Maybe with acacia and jungle would bridges connecting them....yes, that sounds good.

In no time at all, they’re standing before the behemoth of the savanna’s mountains. The grassy plains are pockmarked with cave entrances and sunken ponds, there’s even a few of those circular cave-divots in the ground, that are at stone level but still open to the sky. Most of them are connected by tunnels, which is nice aesthetically.

As they’re approaching one of the exposed caves, they hear something.

A crack, a small rumble. It’s definitely not one of the cave noises, and something about it makes Thio’s blood run cold.

They stop short. They definitely remember going in this cave system before. When they rah out of torches, they started using dandelions to mark their path.

That sound isn’t like the clamor of mobs. They’ve never heard it before.

Actually....

Thio sits, and slides down into the exposed cave. They left something else down there, something besides the dandelions. Yes, Thio definitely remembers leaving a nether portal down there.

Wait a minute. They suck in a breath. A while ago, they had planned to travel a long way and then light a portal to make a fast-travel system. They had spent hours gathering the materials! How had they forgotten? Even now, the plan feels kind of....hazy. And it was only about seven or eight days ago.....Whatever! Maybe something fell through the portal. And they’ve got nothing else to do. Maybe by the time they get out, it’ll be morning and they can get up the mountains safely.

First though, Thio pulls an iron pickaxe out of their inventory and sets to work on a nearby vein of coal. One can never be too prepared.

That is, until they hear something that sounds uncannily like footsteps ( _impossible, they’re the only person here, there’s no one else—)_

Right behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bet you all didn’t think you’d get five chapters in less than four days. I bet you didn’t.  
> But then you did.  
> Thank you all so much for your support. You have no idea how much this means to me, to have such amazing feedback and responses to this! I didn’t expect it to blow up this much.  
> For the meantime, I’ll probably continue to update multiple times a week. The motivation you guys give me is unbelievable!
> 
> —Steele


	13. I See Stars

The tunnels seem to go up and up forever. Honestly, Quirrel’s legs are starting to get tired from trudging through running water that spills from that walls, and clambering up the steep sides of the cave. There’s some kind of dusty, black ore stuck into the rocks that keeps getting on his hands, and it only smudges when he tries to rub it away. The Madame is definitely going to make fun of him for this.

Something about this place makes him...jumpy. There are strange noises, like echos and clatters, and he supposed it could be an echo of the Madame or Herrah’s activity, but it doesn’t sound like them.

He’s noticed that the little yellow flowers have formed a sort of trail. While it’s clever he can’t help but wonder why on earth someone would use flowers, of all things, as a trail marker.

He hoists himself up a ledge, panting heavily. There must be one of those blue torches up ahead, because a soft light is filtering through the stones.

But the light looks more soft gray than blue. Quirrel’s heart jumps. Maybe, just maybe, he’s closer to the surface than he originally thought.

His nail screeches as he plants it on the ground and pushes himself up on it. The tunnel floor looks to have flattened out, the slope is much more gentle.

He walks, faster than his usual pace, heart racing. Please, please let it be the surface. Even just a larger cavern would be better then these, steep, cramped, dark halls with their unlit torches and heart-stopping noises.

An entrance up ahead with a calm, dark blue light surrounding it, open to the sky. Yes. Yes! He breaks into a run, nail still in hand and—

Something bright. Right in front of the entrance, hunched over the crumbling sides of a cave exposed to the sky, something decorated in sickly orange moves slowly and methodically.

Quirrel immediately freezes, the first thing he thinks of being the glowing, bleeding eyes of bugs taken by the infection. The gold-orange fluids that they weeped and bled, and the sickly, burnt-sugar sweetness of that overbearing light. The light that drove them from Hallownest.

It couldn’t be. The infection couldn’t have followed them here, it just couldn’t have. It’s literally impossible, the King said so himself—

But the King also said he could deal with the infection. With some horror, Quirrel realizes that even the god-king of Hallownest had no idea what he was doing. None of them do.

But no. He squints, looks closer. He refuses to assume this creature is hostile. The cloth that hangs over its back is gold and orange, attacked to shoulder-plates. It’s wearing armor! This must be the being that left the second portal and the torches!

A strange mop of yellow fur or fabric pokes out from above the cape it wears. He hears the steady beat of a pickaxe—is it mining the black rock he got on his hands earlier?

He wasn’t prepared for this. For meeting a being capable of higher thought. But with such poisonous coloring...

He should be cautions.

Suddenly, Quirrel realizes he’s gradually leaned forward, far enough to lose his balance, and he stumbles a few steps forward.

The brightly dressed being whirls around, looking straight at him with—with—

With bright orange eyes.

Thio whips around as fast as they can. Their pickaxe doesn’t do a lot of damage, but they’re more than capable of taking some random zombie or skeleton with it.

But instead, in the dark, is something they’ve never seen before in their entire life.

Their mind goes perfectly blank, not knowing what they’re seeing. It’s a...mob? That’s a little shorter than them, and it’s kind of blue and gray, but it has skinny legs and a armored looking outside. And it’s holding the weirdest looking stone nail that they’ve ever seen,

“Uh, hello there,” they say, with somewhat of a laugh. “Never seen you around here.” It’s just a joke. Not like it’s gonna answer. What are the odds, really, of discovering a new mob that doesn’t immediately attack them?

“Hello.”

To say that Thio does a double take would be a generous understatement. It feels like every sense in their body is jolted hyper-awake.

“You can talk?!” They blurt out without thinking. The strange creature looks taken aback, as if it were confused by the question.

“...Yes?” They answer warily. “So...so can you?”

“W-well—“ Thio blusters, stumbling over words, “I don’t mean to be rude, I just—I’ve never really, well, talked....to anyone before.” They’re dizzy now, like they’ve lost a lot of blood, even though they have no wounds. This can’t be happening. It’s a dream, a hallucination, there can’t be—

There can’t be someone else. After all the searching and exploring and nights of nothingness they can’t remember, there is no one else in the world like them. There can’t be.

“Really?” The creature answers. It’s black claws curl around the stone nail they’re carrying. If Thio didn’t know better, they’d say they looked almost worried. Not that they’d know how to read someone’s emotions.

They reply simply. “Yeah, I guess. Do you, um...have a name? By the way?”

They nod. Thio realizes that the white circle around this guy’s face is probably a mask. “I’m Quirrel,” they say politely, almost cheerfully, “and you are?”

“I’m Thio.” It’s new, to them, to introduce themselves to someone who will reply. But nice. “Quirrel’s a nice name.”

“Thank you,” they say. “Are you really alone here?” Thio nods. It doesn’t feel as bad as they expected to admit it. But only the shadows of the dirt walls around them, and the endless night sky separate them. And it’s almost relieving to say what they sat out loud.

“I’ve never seen another person who can talk in this world.” Thio affirms hesitantly. It’s incredibly weird to be sharing information with this being that’s they’ve just met—but something inside them doesn’t want to stop.

The strange creature seems surprised. They lower their sword, starlight glinting off the blade. It seems like there is an unspoken armistice between the two of them, as wary as they were. Like there’s a unity between themself, and this person from Wither-knows-where.

“So you’re the one who left the torches in that red place?” Quirrel asks. Thio blinks. Red place? What are they—oh!

Thio snaps. “Do you mean the Nether? You came from the Nether?”

Quirrel soaks up the world like a sponge. “Is that what that place is called?” 

“Yeah. That’s where you’re from?” They’ve explored the Nether pretty extensively too, and the closest thing they’ve found to Quirrel here are piglins.

“No,” they say, a tinge or pain edging their tone, “we’re from a place beyond the...Nether, was it? We were driven from our kingdom by—“

We?

“Wait, wait,” Thio cuts them short, “we? There’s more of you?” More people. Impossible, impossible, impossible, their head tells them, but their heart sings.

“Yes?” Quirrel answers. “There’s a whole kingdom of us.”

A whole damn kingdom. A kingdom! They have no idea how big a kingdom is, but they want to know. They want to know every little thing Quirrel knows, about where he came from and who he is and what he knows—

A rattling sounds from the ground level above Quirrel, one that they immediately recognize as a skeleton. Oh, no you don’t. Thio has things to learn from this guy! There’ll be no shooting here tonight but their own.

In the blink of an eye, Thio whips out a bow that shines with magic, knocks an arrow, and aims.

They don’t see Quirrel’s eyes widen, doesn’t see him heft his sword as fast as he can manage.

And Thio doesn’t see the lightly glowing, tall bug with a four-eyed mask, floating out of the tunnel entrance.

Monomon rushes after Quirrel as soon as she hears the sound of him running. In the caves, it echos painfully, and Herrah joined her along the way. The cave system they follow leads up, up, up, potentially to the surface. Her heart jumps at the thought of her little Quirrel being the first to see the sky in this strange new world.

And when she sees the distinct light of a night sky, she darts forward as fast as she can, Herrah protesting behind her and—

Monomon the Teacher sees luminous orange eyes, the color of the light. And a projectile that’s aimed right at her assistant’s heart.

And she sees red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know if it’s crack that I smoke, or what.
> 
> Here you all go, the long awaited first contact. I wind what troubles are on the horizon?
> 
> Leave a comment!
> 
> —Steele


	14. The Intent to Kill

The arrow flies almost faster than Thio’s eyes can track it, hitting the skeleton right in the collarbone. It poofs before its bones even hit the ground. They smile, orange hair falling in front of their eyes. Now, back to the task at hand—

But out of the corner of their eyes, Thio sees something move faster than the arrow, faster than anything they’ve ever seen, and before they can even raise their shield, something hits them in the chest and sends them flying backwards.

They crash back-first into the cave wall, all the air knocked out of their lungs and their back screaming like a ghast. What was that? What hit them? Their instincts force them to their feet, sword and shield out. They curse themself internally for opting out of bringing their good sword.

Standing in front of Quirrel is a towering, floating....thing. Just like with Quirrel, they’ve never seen anything like it in their life. What is that thing? It has long tentacles like a ghast’s that glow a faint blue against the moonless night.

And they get the distinct vibe from it that it is not. Happy.

If there’s one thing Thio has learned from their lonely life if building, having a pretty face, and challenging dragons, it’s that if something attacks you, strike back first and ask questions later.

So they’re gonna do just that.

Thio yanks their bow out, the arrow knocking itself, and shoots at the ghast-thingy. 

It dodges.

Thio blinks. Mobs dodging. That’s definitely new.

A glowing tentacle lashes out, but they launch themself into the air just in time to avoid it, pulling back their bow again. The light from its tentacles provides just enough light for them to see by. It’s pleasurably ironic.

They’re going to win because of their opponent.

This time, they have two arrows loaded into their bow. The drawstring snaps from their fingers and sends them rocketing towards their attacker. But they’re not trying to hit them.

The tentacled creature dodges both of them, giving Thio enough time to switch to their battered iron sword, still in midair, and it gives them a straight shot to sever the glowing appendages entirely.

Quirrel’s voice yells something they can’t hear with the air of their fall rushing through their ears, but Thio hefts their sword, twists in the air and swings.

It never even hits.

Because they apparently didn’t see a much, much bigger problem.

Thio gets tossed again, this time breaking their fall against the opposite wall with their shield. Pieces of sunlight-gold fabric float to the ground in the wake of the swipe. Was the blow really powerful enough to destroy their entire cape? The sudden cool air against their sore back seems to think so.

Thio narrows their eyes at their new, much bigger problem. A hulking, horned creature that’s carrying a stone sword kind of like Quirrel’s. Just like Quirrel—and the tentacle thing, Thio notices, it’s wearing a bone-white mask. But unlike Quirrel’s its mask has six black eyes instead of just one pair.

Where the hell are all these new hostile mobs coming from? Is this a shattered savanna thing? They know they’re pretty rare, but this is just ridiculous.

But hey, Thio’s taken on the Wither and the Ender Dragon. Even a six-eyed armored monster’s a piece of cake after that, right? Right?

With their shield hand, they pull a couple of baked potatoes after their inventory and stuff them in their mouth. The six-eyed monster hefts their sword—do they have six arms? Alright, that’s just absurd.

So the best thing to do, they think as they crouch into a launching position, is not thing about it and just—

Attack!

The monster moves at the same time as them, stone sword pulled back and ready to swing in from the side. So Thio readjusts their swing to come from the top. They grit their teeth and launch themself as high as they can go, and the monster’s gaze follows them wordlessly. If they time this right, they can kill it in one swing.

And if not, they get cut in half. But what’s life without a few risks?

They can practically feel the battle reaching its climax. Liquid lightning coursing through their veins and heart beating unbelievably fast, all muscles taught and ready for the ultimate gamble.

The monster begins to swing, Thio’s own following only half a second behind, but still faster.

But something breaks the moment, with a loud, earsplittingly loud shriek.

_ “STOP!” _

Quirrel has a sudden, gut-wrenching moment of terror when the strange, orange-clad being suddenly looks at something above him, and then whips a projectile out of nowhere and aims right at him.

For a moment, he’s sure that’s his last moment. Somehow, the light did follow them through the apparent Nether, and this is just a strangely-shaped husk. He’s about to have something long and sharp and wooden buried in his chest. He only hopes that the Madame isn’t the one to find his body.

But then a whistling sound flies over his head, hitting something that then makes a small, puffing noise behind him.

He turns around just in time to see something turning to dust, and some small projectiles falling from its disintegrating hands, and it all comes together.

Thio was protecting him. Something was about to attack him, Thio just got to it first!

But then he hears a thud, and sees Thio being thrown, and a familiar green-blue tendril having apparently been the one to send them flying.

Monomon.

He’s frozen, torn between terror and indignation, as Thio climbs to their feet, breathing heavily, and attacks the Madame head-on.

She must have misunderstood. She must have only seen the attack—the thing that Thio fired into the air. With horror, Quirrel realizes that they could very much end up killing each other.

And judging by the strange movements and technique of this odd bug? It’s a very, very even fight.

And it gets even worse when they let two more sharp objects fly, an obvious distraction, but Monomon doesn’t seem to notice. But he can tell that Thio’s aiming to cut off the Madame’s arms. Gods almighty. They’re trying to kill her!

The look in their eyes is determined, angry even, but not insane. Not like the husks that haunted Hallownest. No, this is just someone defending themself out of pain and indignation—a simple case of self defense.

But he can’t cry out. He’s paralyzed with fear, knowing that the moment he steps into the battle between these two clashing forces, he’ll be ripped to shreds. 

But then the huge shadow that is the Beast Queen of Deepnest emerges from the darkness, and with a remarkable speed for a bug—er, beast of her size, draws her nail. The impact of the metal nail and Herrah’s stone one sends Thio flying back, though they break the fall with their curious wooden shield. With a grunt, they suddenly summon another thing from whatever pockets they have, shove it on their mouth, and darts forward.

Now the battle’s even more deadly. He knows that Herrah the Beast always fights to kill—if her opponents are truly warriors like her, they’ll survive. It’s Deepnest’s own cutthroat mentality, entirely foreign for Quirrel in all but theory.

The intent to kill is so thick in the air that he can barely breathe, but when Thio launches themself into the air, nail raised and cold purpose in their eyes, something inside Quirrel moves on its own.

And he steps forward, sucks in a breath of air, and shouts with an authority he didn’t know he possessed.

_ “STOP!” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You thought you’d seen the last of me. You thought.
> 
> I’m sorry if the fight scenes are kind of clunky! I don’t really know how to write them, as I haven’t written very many. If you have any tips, fellow writers, please tell me in the comments.
> 
> Also, Monnie is fighting Thio now, MunTiller. :) I’m doing this to torture you. Enjoy yourselves.
> 
> —Steele


	15. Important Announcement!

Hello hello hello!

Before anyone gets to scared, no, I’m not going on hiatus! I just want to tell you guys that I have a tumblr now!

I don’t know how to link, but my url is Steeleandbones.

My first and only post is a picture of Thio! I finished it just this morning. Feel free to visit my account and on there and ask questions, though I would prefer that you ask them in the comments on Ao3.   
  
I hope you enjoy my art. I’ll be updating again today just so you know.

—Steele


	16. Chapter 16

It only takes a single moment hesitation for their entire game to get thrown off. The sound of Quirrel’s voice is all it takes for Thio to seize up for a single moment, and suddenly they’re tumbling right over the horned monster and headfirst onto the ground.

They brace themself to feel the bite of a blade in their back and then their body breaking down into neon-green energy, right before waking up back in their bed, but it doesn’t come.

Instead, they hear skittering footsteps, and something skidding to a stop between them and the monster.

Thio rolls around just to put their bare back to the dirt. Where is their sword? It’s not in their inventory. Did it fly from their hands when they fell? They still have their bow, so they can at least get a good shot from the ground—

But Quirrel is standing, arms outstretched as if to protect them, in between Thio and the giant monster.

“Wait!” He yells, his voice less loud and authoritative than before. “This is all just a misunderstanding. Madame, Lady Herrah, I swear I can explain!”

Who the hell is he talking about? Thio winces as they struggle to their feet. If they need to, they can still take mobs with their bare hands. They’re just not sure if their little friend can do the same.

But without warning, another voice, smoother and more stern, starts speaking. “Quirrel,” the voice says, and Thio realizes it belongs to the floating tentacle creature, who’s now drifted up next to the horned monster, “why are you defending a husk? We should get back to the King, he’ll want to know that we’ve been followed!” A husk? Like the zombies that dwell in the desert?

Quirrel quickly answers. “Madame, this is Thio. I believe that they were shooting at something else to defend me! You can even look, there are remains of some creature up there!” He points with a claw to the dirt edge of the exposed cave.

Well....Quirrel did say there was a whole kingdom’s worth of people who had come from the Nether.

Were these two mobs—er, beings, part of that kingdom? Though it’s warm, the thought sends a shiver down their spine.

“If that thing really is intelligent, assistant,” another rumbling, rough voice says, “then we should let it speak for itself.” The huge, dark, horned being points at them with one of their six arms. That voice must belong to them.

Again, their mouth moves before their mind.

“Uh, hi,” Thio says, “sorry about attacking you.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence between the two large beings. The only sound in the area is the shuffling of the breeze through the grass, for just a few seconds. They’re not too sure what to think of their shock, but it is a little....offensive, that they didn’t think Thio could even speak. Should they be?

But in the blink of an eye, the moment is broken, and the tentacle monster is suddenly speaking.

“Oh my Wyrm!” They exclaim, quickly floating up into their face, which sends Thio stumbling back awkwardly. “I am so sorry! What is your name again? And, pardon me, but what are you? I’ve never seen such an oddly shaped bug in my life before! Herrah! Herrah have you ever...?”

The horned creature—Herrah, apparently, sighed heavily. “No, Monomon,” they say flatly, “there are no similar beasts in Deepnest.”

“Bug?” Thio asks. “Like a bee? I’m not a bug!”

“You’re not?” Monomon asks. There’s an edge of something between confusion and disbelief in their voice. “Then what are you?”

That question catches them off guard. Thio frowns. “Well,” they spluttered, “I’m—I’m a....” they trail off. There’s not really....a name for what they are. Not a name like “villager” or “blaze” or “slime”. They’re just...Thio. They’ve never really felt the need to name something like them.

They’re just one thing. Just Thio. And that’s all they’ve ever been.

They sigh and cross their arms. “You know what? Nevermind,” they say tiredly. “Are you telling me that you three are bugs?”

“All of us except Herrah,” Monomon replies, “she’s a beast. They dwell in a part of our kingdom called Deepnest.”

Thio stops short. “What’s she?” They ask, feeling very, very confused.

“A beast,” Herrah says, somewhat exasperatedly.

“No, no,” they say quickly, “what does “she” mean?”

Monomon hesitates, a confused tilt to their mask. “She? It is the term for a female being. Just like “he” is for the males.”

Thio hesitates before saying, “I don’t know what that means.”

Awkward silence.

Herrah waves a hand dismissively, “Nevermind then. Thio, was it?” They nod in return. “Are you the one who left those torches in that hellish place? As well as the portal.”

“Yes. Those are mine.”

Herrah nods along. “And are you the only being here?”

Those words sting a little, but Thio answers truthfully. “As far as I’ve seen,” they say, “I’m the only being I’ve ever met that’s really intelligent.” Herrah hums in acknowledgement.

“I am the sovereign of a people called Deepnest,” she says evenly, which is...mildly shocking. “And my people have been forced to flee our home by a sickness, along with a kingdom called Hallownest, which my companions belong to. Our people are waiting in beyond the portal in those caves, and we are searching for a new home. If these lands belong to you....” she says, “then I would ask that you aid us.”

What.

It takes a moment for those words to sink in. A kingdom, a people looking for a home. Hundreds of people, or bugs. People who could think and speak and had ideas and thoughts just like them—it makes their heart race!

Maybe it’s selfish. But they are suddenly hit with a vicious, desperate wanting. For someone, something, sone concept that’s too intangible and unfamiliar for Thio to name.

So Thio takes a deep breath, and answers. “I’ll do it,” they say, raising their head to look Herrah in the eyes, a small smile on their lips. “I mean, who would I be to deny two whole kingdoms some little help? I’m sure there’s a place in the Overworld that would be good for you. But I should warn you, the Nether’s not a friendly place. You should probably get your people out of there as soon as you can.”

Quirrel pipes up, “We did encounter this awful fire-spitting creature. But the King took care of it quite easily.” 

Thio’s brow raises on their head disbelievingly. “A ghast? Those are pretty hard to take care of without a bow or a crossbow. Your king must be pretty capable if he took it out on his own.”

Monomon laughs. “Well,” she says smoothly, “he is a god!”

Wait, what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here y’all go, my daily update! The reason Thio refers to Monomon, Quirrel, and Herrah as “they”, is because they have no idea What the Fuck a Gender Is, as gender is not a thing of Minecraft.  
> In case you missed it, I have a tumblr now and I’ve published my drawing of Thio. Check chapter 15 for deets.
> 
> Leave a comment!
> 
> —Steele


	17. Just Me and My Sister

There’s no reason to worry himself, he knows. It hasn’t even been an hour since Herrah, Monomon, and her little assistant left through the second portal. That doesn’t stop him from pacing furiously, while his wife watches him.

“Wyrm,” she sighs, “working yourself up will only make it worse.” She tips her head and gives him a sympathetic look. Perhaps the heat of this place is what’s agitation him so much.

“I know, I know,” he responds, turning again on his heel, “But you can’t blame me, Root. Honestly, I should’ve been the one to go—“

“If you went, who would be watching Hallow?” She asks sweetly, knowing full well that he’ll answer that he thought she would.

He sighs, and continues pacing. The guards have constructed a makeshift barrier around the arched entrance to the cavern, to prevent any hostile beings like the floating creature from entering. Even in just the past few minutes, he’s heard the wails of that monster from beyond the walls. There are more of them out there. Which is why he’s having Dryya and Ze’Mer guard the barrier, just in case.

Still, he longs to go through the portal himself. It feels far too irresponsible for a King to allow his citizens to walk into danger while he sits in safety. Well, Monomon and Quirrel are his citizens. Herrah is governed by no one but herself.

He glances back at the shimmering, whispering portal set into the rock.

He supposes, he can wait a little longer.

Hallow’s used to sitting around and doing nothing for hours on end. But that was back in the White Palace, in Hallownest, before they had to leave. This new place is hot and itchy though, which makes it hard to stay still. So they wander around the crowds, drawing some attention with their size.

They’re still young, they think. But already they’re a fair bit taller than the average bug, and the Pale King—er, their father.

They pass by a group of small, round bugs wearing the mask of Deepnest—Herrah’s weavers, if they recall correctly. Suddenly, something tugs on their cloak, down by the Deepnest beasts.

When they look down, they see the gendered child. The result of the bargain their father made with Herrah, though they suppose the bargain is moot now.

The tiny bug peers up at them. “You look like me!” She squeaks, tugging on their cloak. 

They nod as she jumps up and down. “I’m Hornet!” She says excitedly, “you’re the big bug who’s always behind the short king, right? Mama doesn’t like him very much. But that’s okay, I bet you’re a lot nicer than him. You can come sit with me if you want.”

If Hallow had a voice, they would’ve just burst out laughing. It seems Herrah’s distaste for the Pale King has carried over to her daughter. But hearing those words from a tiny child’s mouth only makes it funnier.

They follow Hornet’s insistent tugs, and settle down next to her. She resembles them, in a way. There are no thorny prongs on her mask like theirs, but hers still has the same general shape. And her eyes look the same. She looks somewhat like a vessel, ironically. 

She chatters happily while the Weavers watch them. Hallow gets the distinct impression that they’re not quite sure what to think of them, but that’s okay.

“Hey! Hey!” Hornet says, poking them in the mask to get their attention. “Mama said that the King’s my dad. Since you look like me, he’s your dad too, right?” The statement is oddly perceptive for a child. But Hallow’s not quite sure what they expected from the child of the Beast.

They nod slowly. The Pale King is their father. Hornet’s face lights up and she bounces on her feet.

“So you’re my sibling then!” She exclaimed, practically jumping for joy. They nod again, this time a little less stiff. It’s cute to watch her get so worked up.

And something warm blooms in their chest. A sibling, a sister. That sounds....good.

They stay there for a while, just sitting next to Hornet and listening to her talk.

Just sitting with their sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m back babey.  
> Sorry about not updating yesterday. I kind put off my schoolwork and then had to speedrun it.  
> But anyway, here’s a short little interlude chapter featuring Hornet!
> 
> Leave a comment!
> 
> —Steele


	18. Lead the Way

The King doesn’t have to wait long.

His sensitive hearing picks up the slightest change in the portal’s usual humming, and in a split second, both he, his knights, and his Root are standing adjacent to it, bustling with anticipation.

And worry. He hope beyond all hope that all three people who left will return.

Quirrel, the assistant, is the first to emerge. The Pale King notices he looks a bit shaken, but he doesn’t think anything of it. Next is Herrah, then Monomon.

And then, a fourth being emerges from the portal, and the King’s heart drops dizzyingly fast.

This creature has bright orange hair and eyes—the mark of the infection—and an open face that is eerily without a mask. Little brownish dots mark the sides and middle of its face.

Immediately, he steps forward, white lances already halfway summoned, but Herrah seems to catch his movement and give him a cold glare. Then he realizes. This husk—or at least what he thought was a husk—isn’t attacking. Instead, it has an intelligent look in its eyes, and it’s just....looking around. At the ocean of gray shells.

And then, after its eyes trace across the groupings of bugs, they settle on him. A shiver runs down his spine, where his wings meet his back.

The people of Hallownest and all the other parties are rife with whispers, all their black and glittering eyes on the strangely colored being before them.

He doesn’t fully release the half-baked spell in his claws. This being has her eyes, though without the mindlessness. He’s not taking any chances.

The party of four approaches, and as always, Monomon is the first to speak.

“Now, my King, I know you told me not to pick up any strays,” she says smoothly, gesturing towards the tall being, “but I do believe I’ve found us someone who can help us.”

“Technically,” Herrah interrupts, “your little assistant found them.”

Monomon waves dismissively with one tentacle. “Yes, yes,” she says, “anyway, this is Thio. I’ll let them introduce themself.”

Thio has never seen so many people or things in their entire life. Not even when they attracted a swarm of wither skeletons in a new fortress they were exploring, or when they got attacked by like, six magma cubes at once.

There’s just....so many of them. They all have black eyes like Quirrel, and white masks, most of them with only two eyes.

It takes them a moment to just....take it all in. In the tiny cavern that they’d hollowed out for their portal system, there’s at least.....two hundred, maybe more....people.

They feel like they’re either about to jump for joy or be sick. But they continue to move with Quirrel, Monomon, and Herrah, over to a group of bugs dressed in white.

In the front is a bug with tall horns that look kind of like a crown. That must be the King they were talking about, but...

Thio squints a little. They look awfully short to be a King.

Once they approach, Monomon chatters in that clever tone she has, but all they hear is her saying gang Thio will introduce themself.

Which takes them a little off guard, not going to lie. But they make the best of it anyway.

So Thio straightens out, pushes the bees in their stomach away, and says.

“Hello, I’m Thio. Herrah told me that you all needed some help. And since I’m, well, the only person you’ll find up there, I guess I’m the one for the job.”

“Up there?” A soft, lilting voice startles them, and when they look up to its source, there’s a....white tree. With eyes. Wither and Ender Dragon, this is going to be an interesting day.

They nod, trying to keep eye contact. “Yeah. That portal—“ they point to the one set in the netherrack behind them, “leads to a place called the Overworld. It’s where I live, and it’s a lot less....hostile, than the Nether. Which is this place, by the way.”

The King finally speaks. They’re—his voice is a lot less deep and imposing than they thought it’d be, since he’s apparently really important and all.

“I am the Pale King, the sovereign of Hallownest,” He says. His tone is....wary, like Quirrel’s was at first. “Are you truly the only being up there?”

“Yep,” they say, “I’m the only one who talks. There’s a couple other...semi-sentient things up there, but they don’t do much.” He nods in consideration.

Herrah pitches in, “Thio owns the lands above,” she explains, even though they really...don’t. “And they have offered their assistance in finding our people a new home, Wyrm.”

The words come out before they can even think to stop themself. “Worm? Your name is worm?! I mean, I’m not entirely clear on the concept of a king, but you seem awfully short for an authority figure!”

Monomon bursts out laughing, doubling over and holding her waist with glowing arms. For a moment, they wonder if they’ve made a grave error, but then the Pale King sighs heavily. He looks at Monomon.

He speaks sarcastically, and tiredly, “Monomon, did you tell them—“

She cackles in response. “I swear to you, Wyrm,” she says gleefully, “I didn’t tell them to say that! Gods above, I think you and I will get along swell, Thio!”

They flash Monomon a smile, and they swear they can see Herrah giving them a nod of approval out of the corner of their eyes.

“Very well, Thio,” the Pale King says, still in an exasperated tone, “I will accept your help. When can my people leave this...Nether?”

They blink. Why wait? The journey’s a bit perilous, to the surface, but they can smooth it out with their trusty iron pickaxe.

“Right now.” They say, and summon the pickaxe from their inventory. It seems to surprise the King.

“Right now?” The tree lady says, head tilted as if in confusion. They nod.

“Sure, why not?” They answer lightly. “I can smooth out the trail. It shouldn’t take long for us to reach the surface. Er, the portal itself is kind of...deep underground. But I know the route like the back of my hand, it won’t take that long.”

The Pale King and the tree lady look at each other, like they’re having some sort of unspoken conversation. After a moment of deliberation, they both nod.

“All right, Thio,” the Pale King says. “Lead the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, it seems I’m back on my updating schedule, y’all. I hope you enjoy the first, eventful meeting between the Pale King and our lovely, lovely little explorer! I’m actually coming out with art for this chapter on my tumblr later today, so be on the lookout for that.
> 
> Leave a comment!
> 
> —Steele


	19. Morning’s Horizon

Thio has to squint to see as soon as the Wyrm-guy exits the portal behind them. Monomon never told them that he glowed like a shroomlight in an obsidian room. Actually, his light is more whitish, so he looks like an End Rod.

They let out a huff of air that’s something like a laugh. Note to self: show this shorty an End Rod later.

He looks around for a moment, though his face is unreadable. Just like literally everyone else, the Pale King is wearing a bone-white mask with two glaring holes for eyes. It’s a little....unnerving, to not know what this guy is thinking.

“Anyway,” they say breezily, throwing up a hand to gesture at the surrounding stone, “welcome to the Overworld. The path up is actually a little, uh...impossible. Probably. For most people. But I can smooth it out in no time, it’ll be fine.” The King gives them a strange look as Thio whips out their iron pickaxe in a compact flash of white light and sets ahead.

He follows, the sourceless white glow trailing him all the while. Thio forges ahead, taking in the dark chamber as they go. The torches they’d lit in the tunnel have long since burned away, leaving only the rough sticks attached to the walls at irregular intervals. When they arrive at the fork in the tunnels, with one leading out and the other upwards, they immediately spot the little dandelion they planted there—they had run out of torches at some point, and then started using random flowers from their inventory instead.

“When will we be able to start the actual migration?” The King asks, peering up into the inky abyss above them. The incline of the tunnel is definitely sharp. It’s a wonder Quirrel was even able to make it up.

They pull their pickaxe down off their shoulder. It’s in pretty good condition, and they never go anywhere without a crafting table or the wood to make one....

They purse their lips. “Right now, I guess.”

“I beg your pardon?” The Pale King replies ruefully, looking either confused or like he thinks Thio’s punking him. For a moment, they’re not quite sure what to say to that. How would a person answer questions like this? They have no idea. Their heart is still doing flip-flops in their chest at every word with every bug. The entire idea of conversation is just so....so foreign to them. Scary, but exhilarating at the same time.

“Uh, I can get the path smoothed out,” they stumble over their words and look away from the glowbug’s face. Maybe it’ll be easier if they pretend they’re just talking to themself. “It might get a little twisty, but I can manage. Just give me a few.”

He regards them for a few moments. “Alright,” the Pale King says, a little unsure. “I will....gather my people. Thank you for your help, er, Thio.”

They shrug. “Not an issue.” The air’s a little awkward as he walks away, but really, it’s fine. It’s a little disappointing. But fine. They shouldn’t expect their first conversations ever to go smoothly, that’s just outlandish.

Thio swings the pickaxe over their head and into the ground, which shatters into cobblestone after a couple more swings and evaporates into their inventory. 

It’s fine. It’ll be fine.

The cave is plunged into darkness as the last of the big King’s light fades, and they have to sort through their inventory for a minute and make some torches so they can see.

Thio begins to clear out the cave, winding a path around the edges that they....think will be okay for all the bugs they saw to use. It won’t take long.

And come to think of it, it’ll be morning soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m back babes! Sorry for the break! I broke my Apple Pencil and had to get a new one, and school has been quite busy! And stressful! Sorry the chapter’s so short, I’m just getting back into the swing of things!  
> Enjoy the new chapter and leave a comment!
> 
> —Steele


	20. Almost There

By the time the Pale King has gathered his citizens, (who are very excited at the prospect of leaving the humid caves of the Nether) the promised pathway is already finished.

Wait, what?

He squints, unsure of what he’s seeing. In the narrow, steep passage that leads to the surface, there’s a winding, flat path encircling it like a spiral staircase. Bits of stone litter the floor.

No, he thinks. That must have always been there. He was just so tired that he missed it the first time around. There’s no way the strange tall creature was able to build that in the, what? Fifteen minutes? The fifteen minutes that he spent handing out orders to the Dreamers and his knights. 

He shakes his head. Yes, that must be it. He’s just tired. Just the light playing tricks on him.

A triumphant voice suddenly echoes through the caverns, shaking him from his thoughts.

“Here’s your ticket up!” The voice is distorted by distance, and accompanied by the uneven tapping of someone running, but he recognizes it as that of the creature who inhabits these lands. Thio.

He’d be lying to say he trusts that being. And not just because their eyes are adorned with his sworn enemy’s colors. They seem awfully....cautious. It’s as if they’re both dancing around a larger issue. Though, they have claimed to be the only being of higher thought that inhabits these lands. It would make sense if they weren’t well-versed with speaking to others.

And if they truly are the only thinking creature in these lands.....then what higher being do they belong to? The residual magic within the Nether felt....old. Faint. Whatever had produced it originally was long gone, though the malevolent energy he felt while down there was proof that a higher being did once inhabit the fiery realm.

But that place’s magic was....corruptive. Dark. It was a decaying, destructive force that cared little for the realm surrounding it. The only reason it didn’t exert much power over the common bugs was because it was so old it was almost obsolete.

But this Overworld where the Pale King is now? Try as he might, he can’t feel any more than an inkling of power. This place has a....calm aura. Patient. Like it knows he is here, but it doesn’t resent him for that. It’s almost welcoming, but distant at the same time.

But now is not the time to speculate, no matter how suspicious he may be of Thio. They are, after all, his and his kingdom’s only way to the surface as of now.

From the top of the spiraling path, the bright creature suddenly descends, breathing heavily. The pickaxe they summoned out of nowhere earlier is gone.

“I assume the path is ready?” He calls out. Even he feels a bit anxious now to leave these small, cramped caves.

“Yep!” They reply, voice rolling like thunder over the stone. “Come on up! But mind the sides, I don’t have any fence on me so there is definitely the possibility of falling!” He’s not sure what to make of the fence comment, but he turns and nods to Dryya, who is leading the front of the procession. 

They begin walking.

It’s mostly quiet, other than the rolling echoes of quiet whispers and hundreds of tiny footsteps. Thio walks just ahead of him. Their clothing seems better suited to the climb than the other bugs, but he maintains hope that this will be a short journey to the surface.

The other bugs....

Wait a moment, where’s Hallow?

He almost jolts, suddenly realizing that he has no idea where his child has gone. He’s about to signal to Dryya when he feels his Root poke him in the shoulder.

When he looks at her, she gestures to the middle of the train, where the Deepnest beasts are lumbering beside the common bugs. Just barely, the Pale King can see the pronged horns of his child peeking over the dark cloaks and six-eyed masks.

He lets out a breath. Having a child to keep track of....is stressful.

They keep walking. Already, he’s seen some kind of brown-gold ore quite similar to Pale Ore peaking out of the sides of the quickly hewn path. Thio’s bright eyes keep flickering to them as well, as if they’re tempted to go and mine them.

He opens his mouth to ask them what kind of metal it is, but suddenly....something else echoes through the caves. 

A high, eerie note, like a lonesome song, rips through the quiet atmosphere, almost resonating in his own shell. It fades as quickly as it came, as if it were never there at all.

He freezes, eyes immediately on their guide. “What was that?” He demands sharply.

They look over their shoulder, a perplexed expression on their unmasked face.

“What was what?” Thio answers.

“That sound.”

“Oh, that was just a cave noise.”

He blinks. “A cave noise.”

They shrug and continue walking. “Yeah. You don’t have those where you come from?”

The Pale King regards them warily. “That’s—common here?” 

“Oh yeah. All the time!” Thio answers breezily, not looking back. “There’s tons of different ones two. Sometimes it sounds like a minecart or some kind of chattering, but the worst is when you hear it above ground. That doesn’t happen often, but it ain’t fun when it does.” 

The Pale King decides not to go any further into that line of inquiry. What a strange new world he’s arrived in. 

There’s no telling when dangers may await them at the surface—and judging by the shimmering black and turquoise armor Thio is wearing, there are plenty of dangers. The chest plate strapped to their back glimmers with a coating of magic in a spell configuration he doesn’t recognize. But there are some key intentions attached to it that he does—intentions like “protect,” and “mend,” and “unbreakable”. 

He’ll have to ask later how they managed to enchant their armor so securely—in his own experience, magic rarely every attaches itself to nonliving objects easily. But the strange black armor is laced to the very particle with it.

He’s so deep in thought that he doesn’t realize there’s a pale light that’s not his son coming from ahead, and he doesn’t recognize the devilish grin coming to form on their guide’s face until they speak again.

“We’re here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Instead of doing schoolwork, I did this instead. Have some more PK’s POV.  
> Not sure how school is going to go down this week, since I’m technically a close contact of someone who has c*ronavirus. I’ll probably be fine. I inherited a borderline mutant immune system from my dad.  
> In other news. They’re almost at the surface.  
> Make of that what you will. :)
> 
> Leave a comment!
> 
> —Steele


	21. Onwards

The Pale King’s first impression of the Overworld is that it’s...big.

As soon as he looks up, a dizzying expanse of voidish purple darkness dotted with white lights greets him, sending his heart plunging to the bottom of his shell.

Thio doesn’t seem bothered at all, only turning around expectantly as he, the White Lady, Monomon, and Lurien emerge from the mouth of the cave.

Lurien squeaks, cringing backwards as if to hide from the endless sky.

He’s impressed. The skies above Hallownest were clouded and dusty, even more so at the borders of the wastelands. But here, the heavens are eerily clear.

“I actually had to move the path up beyond the cave entrance Quirrel came through,” Thio randomly says, “it’d be a little hard for people to get up through that divot. But anyway.”

They spin on their heel, a lazy grin spread across their face and their arms splayed out to the skies. “Welcome to the Overworld, majesty,” they say. 

“This is where you live?” Lurien says out of nowhere, sounding astonished. “It’s so...big.” 

“Well, uh,” Suddenly Thio’s demeanor changes, shifting from smug to awkward, as if they’re taken off guard by Lurien’s question and they don’t know what to say, “not here. I actually live pretty far from here—that’s where the village I’m building is. Lucky for you guys, we can probably make it there in one piece. It’s almost day.”

This time, the Pale King interjects. “Why would the time make a difference?”

Thio’s unmasked face is far to easy to read, and their confusion is evident on their expression. “Because when the sun comes up, the mobs burn. And if the mobs burn, they can, y’know, kill anyone?” 

“Excuse me?!” Lurien shrieks, the King holding a hand up to silence him.

“What exactly do you mean by that?” He asks. Thio sighs.

“You’ll see what I mean. I’ll guard against stuff you all haven’t encountered, and—ooh!” They suddenly snap their head towards the horizon. When the Pale King follows their gaze, he sees why.

The sky in the west if fading from velvet purple to a silky pink hue, some unseen light source dying the skies an alarming orange shade nearest to the horizon.

The bugs of Hallownest and Deepnest begins to pour from the mouth of the cave, with sounds of mixed awe and terror coming from the crowd at the sight of the infinite sky.

“Well, would you look at that,” Thio says, as a burning light emerges from the ground far beyond. “It’s morning.”

Little Hornet is still chattering from her new perch (which is on Hallow’s shoulders, by the way) when they emerge from the dusty cave entrance.

Immediately, she gasps, shrieking with delight as they duck their mask horns under the cave entrance—which wasn’t exactly make with bugs of their height in mind.

And they see why as soon as they lift their head.

An endlessness that reminds them of the void, but lighter, dotted with twinkling lights like lumaflies flittering high above. The sheer size of the sky almost makes them stagger.

Hornet giggles and stretches her stubby little claws towards the sky, making tiny noises of wonder.

Hallow suddenly notices Herrah at their side, giving them an amused look. It’s a bit funny that they didn’t notice her until now—the Beast Queen is not exactly considered a creature of stealth. They know from their old lessons that the beings of Deepnest are known for their ruthlessness and brutality.

But perhaps she doesn’t need that outside of battle. Right now, she just looks at them and her daughter fondly.

The crowd spreads out, all the bugs oohing and ahhing as the sky lightens.

But Hallow’s shell goes cold when they see the source of the light.

A harsh orange light begins to rise over the horizon, erasing the stars as it goes. They barely hear Hornet’s protest that they keep moving, only taking a step when the crowd moves around them.

The light didn’t follow them here. They know that. That’s a fact, not something they should worry about. They’re fine. It’s fine.

They don’t feel fine. They feel cold and stiff, as warm light dispels the homely darkness surrounding the grass and the open sky.

Hornet slides of their shoulders, bounding over to her mother instead. Other bugs begin to move around Hallow. They’re moving too slow.

And then something breaks their panicked line of thought.

A shadow blots out the light, giving them a blessed cool sensation.

“What’s wrong, buddy?” An unfamiliar voice says, tinged with concern masked by curiosity. “Never seen the sun before?”

They look up to meet the strange, smooth and wholly alien face of the creature they know inhabits this place—the being that came through the portal and guided them through the caves. Their face has no mask, unlike the cultural norm in Hallownest. It’s jarring to see such an open expression.

Even though they don’t respond, some kind of understanding lights in the creature’s eyes, and they shrug exaggeratedly, and turn around.

“Ah, well,” they say lightly, “if it’s too hot for you, I’ll walk ahead. You can stand behind me.”

If Hallow had eyes like any other bug, they’d blink.

But instead, they walk on in the shadow of a bright being that somehow doesn’t mind shielding them from the world.

They walk, one in the light and one in shadow, into the strange new world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it’s been a while since I’ve gotten two chapters out in a day. Technically three, if you’ve seen my other work that I started!  
> Have some Hallow. Enjoy and leave a comment!
> 
> —Steele


	22. Here We Are

The transition from night to today, however foreign, is blessed relief to the Pale King. The sparsely dotted night sky was far too reminiscent of the Abyss.

Something he’s not keen on thinking about right now.

Monomon and her assistant are walking side-by-side with Thio, excitedly asking them questions on everything from the grass, to the noisy quadrupedal animals meandering around the plains, to the short pillars of fire that keep popping up and then dissipating into smoke.

“Mobs,” Thio says, an edge of contempt to their casual tone, “they’re basically monsters. Sometimes, there’s different ones depending on the biome. Like in the snow plains, there’s these annoying skeleton archers—“

“What’s a skeleton?” The small assistant asks. Thio gives him an odd look, and then doesn’t answer.

“Aaanyway,” they say, “mobs only come out at night, because when it’s day? They burn. I don’t know what it is about the sun, but it’s the archenemy of the undead, apparently.”

That statement catches the Pale King’s eye. The....undead.

Monomon, as if echoing his thoughts, leans in. “The undead?” She says, not bothering to hide her intense interest. “How do you know they’re undead?”

Thio purses their lips, their expression suddenly going....confused.

“I dunno,” they say, “I mean, I guess I just....know. There’s a few things in the world that you just know instinctively, you know? Like how obsidian makes a Nether portal, or that bedrock can’t be broken? I just know. You know?”

A perplexed silence settles over the group. Even though he’s not actively participating in the conversation, the Pale King can’t help but speculate as to what exactly that means.

“Uhh, no,” Monomon’s assistant says awkwardly, breaking the silence. Thio just shrugs it off.

“Whatever,” they say, and suddenly there’s a worn silvery pickaxe in their hand, swung over their shoulder. “Anyway, we’re almost there. Welcome to the plains, by the way.”

He hadn’t even noticed that the grass’s colors had shifted from a sickly orange-green to a rich emerald until they had said that. But here, the sparse trees dotting the green plains are upright and green, unlike the sideway orange-brown trees in the place Thio calls the “shattered savanna”.

He’s noticed that Hallow has been trailing after Thio this entire time, right in their shadow. As he walks, the King has contemplated offering for Hallow to walk with hin, but they seem awfully content to stay behind their guide.

Thio, Monomon, and the assistant continue bouncing questions back and forth as the sun rises. The last bit of indigo is slowly dispelled from the sky, replaced by a blinding blue hue. Puffy white clouds dot the endless expanse above. The Overworld is much more....vibrant than Hallownest. Colors that were cool and muted in his old kingdom are much more bright here. From the grass to the sky, to even the multicolored flowers that he’s seen everywhere (that Ze’mer, who’s at the side of the procession, keeps collecting.)

It’s beautiful. Beautiful in a strange, foreign, eye-watering way. But he’d be lying to say he couldn’t get used to it.

Even the oddly shaped, mottled green creature that almost blends in with the grass is foreign.

“Ooh, what’s that green thing?” Monomon suddenly says, pointing with a tentacle towards the same creature the Pale King had just spotted.

“Green thing?” Thio echos, brow furrowed. But when their gaze follows Monomon’s appendage, their eyes fly wide open and in a contained shift of white light, the pickaxe they were holding is suddenly replaced by a nail of the same material.

“CREEPER!” Thio shouts, and in the blink of an eye, they’re dashing towards the thing, nail at the ready. Hallow jumps, startled by their lack of shade and the loud noise.

As soon as Thio gets close, the animal’s head swivels to see them, and on fleshy feet is crawls towards Thio as fast as it can, an eerie hissing coming from below the skin.

Thio slashes at it with their nail, and as soon as they do, the “creeper’s” skin begins to flash white, it’s body swelling and the hissing hitting a crescendo.

Thio jumps back with quickness that’s on par with one of the King’s own knights, and the swelling and flashing stops, with the creeper resuming its march towards Thio.

They dart in again, this time slashing twice at it—to which the beat explodes in a haze of white, something gray plopping to the ground where it once stood.

“What,” he says, “did I just witness.” Monomon shrugs.

Thio walks back towards them, stuffing something gray into whatever space they kept their nail in—which the Pale King is starting to suspect is a form of magic.

“Creeper,” Thio says evenly, as if predicting any oncoming questions, “Creepers explode. They’re mobs. The only ones that don’t burn in daylight, too, other than Endermen.”

“They explode?” He says, aghast. “What other manner of ungodly beasts live here?”

“Careful, Herrah might hear you!” Monomon mutters, eliciting a giggle from her little pill bug assistant.

“Plenty,” Thio replies, once again taking stance in front of Hallow, “oh, and look alive. We’re approaching the village.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! Yay!  
> Updates are gonna get frequent again. And that’s because I am very stressed and need an outlet, so I obsessively write.  
> Enjoy and leave a comment!
> 
> —Steele


	23. Wonderstruck

Thio’s never been so aware of the themself and their surroundings in their entire life. Not even when they were fighting the Wither, who ended up turning them into XP about eleven times before they devised a proper system of fighting it.

But right now, the sound of footsteps other than their own are so, so deafening.

They thought this twisting of their heart would get better once they got used to so many....things.....being around them. But it hasn’t. Their lungs feel compressed and tight and their breaths don’t feel like they’re giving them enough air, but somehow this desperate feeling makes the world feel so....dazzling.

It’s a feeling reminiscent of the first times they discovered a new biome—like a mushroom island or an ice spikes. A terrifying and exhilarating blend of fear and wonder and excitement.

What’s the word for that again? Thio hasn’t felt it in so long, they’ve nearly forgotten about it.

Oh, right. 

Wonderstruck.

But now, for the first time in their life, they find themself incredibly and painfully aware of every movement and word they make. Any mistake, any word or strange move,t could make that Wyrm-guy, or Monomon or Quirrel (both of which they find themself liking more and more with each passing minute) trust them less.

And they don’t know how to explain it, but that’s the last thing that they want. Just the thought of it makes their stomach churn.

They want, as....childish as it sounds....to be friends with these people. Even the King, since he can obviously take a joke—under that exterior of a regal.....bug....person, that guy definitely has a personable side. Monomon’s friendly bullying and the tree-lady’s smiling are a testament to that.

But then again, what do they know? They’re just a lonely builder and dimension-conquerer. 

But Thio’s feelings aren’t the only thing they have to take into account. No, there’s another, more technical side to this. A side that they, as the talented builder and redstone engineer they are, are most privy to.

Where the hell are all these people going to live? 

Thio’s built villages before. Well, the village they’re currently building was pre built, they just tore down and redid the houses and roads. And added a couple iron golems. But that’s not the point.

They cast a quick glance backwards, and although their hair obscures some of their view, they can see that there is an absolutely dizzying amount of bugs and beasts behind them.

Yeah. That’s the problem. They’ve never built a whole kingdom. And judging by the things they’ve heard so far, their old kingdom wasn’t above ground. What are the chances that the bugs will want to live above ground now? Low. And while Thio’s building them a new place to live, where are they going to stay? There’s not even a fraction of the room needed down in Thio’s base—not that they’d want a ton of strangers living in the place where they store their most precious items.

Less than a minute ago, Thio announced that they were approaching the village. The cobble and wood roofs come into view, and the tall, intricate spruce wall that they painstakingly built to encircle the first “ring” of the village.

Wait.

They stop short and hiss through their teeth without meaning to. “Ah, hell,” they mumble.

“What is it?” Monomon says, leaning in. Even with the mask on, they can tell she’s concerned.

The iron golems. 

There’s no telling how the iron golems will react to foreign creatures—will it perceive them as mobs? Or as villagers? They’re not sure, but they’re not gonna risk taking chances.

So they turn around, fix the Pale King with their most neutral look, and start talking.

“Change of plans!” They say, and lace their fingers together, “we can’t go through the village.”

“I was wondering about that,” he says in return. “You said you were the only creature of your kind. How is there a village.”

Ah, good point. “There are other, uh, things. But they’re not like me.” They say. “They don’t talk and they’re just kind of....there. They don’t build either. I’d say they’re not really sentient. Like I said, they just kind of....hang around.”

“Al...right.” The King says. “And why can we not go through the village?”

Thio narrows their eyes, and speaks the words of truth. “Iron golems.”

“What is that?”

“They’re....constructs,” they explain, gesturing towards the village in the distance, “they’re made of iron, obviously. But what they do is kill mobs. And they don’t hurt me, or the villagers. My only problem is, that I’m not sure if they’ll attack you guys or not. So we should go around. There’s another spot in the plains—“

The unidentifiable look the Pale King gives them catches Thio off guard—he looks scary, frankly.

“You have. Nonliving guards.” He says. It’s quiet, almost inaudible. “That are programmed to attack certain entities. That are capable enough to guard entire villages.”

Monomon suddenly presses a tentacle to her mask, shoulders quivering with contained laughter. Thio flinches back a little.

They speak carefully. “Uhhh, no offense?”

And that’s the moment when Monomon bursts out in a full on cackle, crowing into the morning skies “HERE WE GO AGAIN!”

The Pale King suddenly sighs a heavy, agitated sigh that makes the little bug who’s been following Thio jump.

“Deep breaths, Wyrm.” Monomon giggles.

“How,” he says draggingly, “did you manage to do what I’ve been trying to do for centuries?! How? What even is this place?!”

The pieces suddenly snap into place. The Pale Kingmust have tried—and failed—to make something similar to the iron golems. And now he’s ticked and mad that little old Thio could do what he couldn’t!

They put on their best smug smile and say smoothly, “I can teach you how to make one, you know.” The King shoots them a withering look, before returning to his usual regal posture.

“And what were you saying about another spot in the plains?” He says swiftly, obviously trying to forget about the previous conversation. They’ll let it slide just this once.

“I’ll head to my house, where I can grab some supplies and food. For temporary shelters.” They say. “Anyone can come with me, if you like. After that, we can discuss where you guys want to live permanently.”

“I see,” the King says. “In that case, I’ll accompany you. Monomon?”

She shakes her head. “Someone’s got to keep the common folk in check, you know,” she says, as if it were obvious. “I’m sure Quirrel would be delighted to go, though.”

Quirrel, despite his impromptu volunteering, nods furiously.

“It’s set then,” Thio says, trying to contain the rush of air that’s fighting for a way out of their lungs. “Follow me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in a day! Let’s go! We’re finally approaching some more personable moments between our several protags. And the king has some questions for Thio. Enjoy and leave a comment!
> 
> —Steele


	24. Home, Sweet Home

The place that Thio was referring to is a large open expanse of grass, dotted by intermittent holes and ponds that draw the attention of some of the more foolhardy bugs. But this area certainly has enough room to house his citizens for a while.

The Pale King watches as Thio weaves in and out of the small groups of bugs that are settling down on the grass. Some of them hold fabric packs with their most prized possessions, or they clutch small tokens. Reminders of the home they were forced from.

Thio’s glittering eyes dart from shell to shell as they go, as if they’re taking in as much of the sight as they can. Their nail has disappeared again, into whatever space they keep their things in.

That’s another strange thing. He can’t, for the life of him, figure out what kind of magic they could be using to store items in an extra-dimensional space. Such a thing is unheard of even to a Wyrm like him. He wonders if Grimm would know, but unfortunately, Grimm never showed his face at Hallownest often. And he supposes if Grimm had needed to flee with them, he would have turned up. Though it’s no matter. The Radiance never much affected the Grimm Troupe, as they are under the jurisdiction of a similar god.

Thio passes the tight group of Deepnest beasts, where they wave at Herrah and the child perched on her horns. Then, they begin to head back towards him, where he’s waiting at the edge of the crowd with Monomon’s assistant, Quirrel.

The King will admit, he’s anxious to see where, and in what conditions, Thio lives. After all, they’re obviously capable of creating guards similar to his wingmoulds, so surely the place they live in is quite fine.

....Or maybe he’s just being bitter.

“We ready to head out?” Thio calls as they approach. He nods.

“How far away is this home of yours?” He asks. It’ll be beneficial for him to know how long he’ll be away from his people.

“It’s a little ways through the forest,” Thio replies, their eyes flicking to the wall of green and brown that borders the plains. “I think you’re going to like it.” There’s a mischievous twinkle in their eye that sets him on edge. He can’t tell what that’s supposed to mean.

“Oh, a forest!” Quirrel says wonderingly, clasping his claws together. “Wood is such a limited resource in Hallownest. But there’s so much of it here!”

“Well, you can take as much as you like,” Thio answers. “I can just replant them anyway. We should be heading out. I bet your people are getting hungry.”

With that, he sets off after Thio.

They reach the forest in no time, with their guide passing through tree trunks and bushes with ease. Though there’s no path, it’s evident that they know exactly where they’re going.

The Pale King feels out of place in this colorful place. Surrounded by life that would put Greenpath to shame, and unlike the dull colors of Hallownest, he doesn’t stand out in a regal manner. He just looks.....displaced.

A foreigner in a land that didn’t ask for him.

A small clearing comes into view. Quirrel has trotted up next to Thio, leaning around wonderingly at the surrounding forest.

In the clearing, small fields of crops interrupted by fence posts topped by lanterns sit in the breeze. A small stream runs past the edge of the forest, dividing it from another plain on the other side. And in the middle, an arch of gray stone encircles a stairway leading down into the ground....

And into a wall of wood planks.

The King squints. No, that isn’t right. This can’t be the place! There’s nothing there.

But Thio just saunters down the stairs and turns around only to cast him and Quirrel and expectant look. “Are you coming?” They say with a raised eyebrow.

“Um, Thio,” Quirrel says slowly, “there’s nothing down there. Where is your home?”

An eerie, unsettling grin spreads across their face, and they gesture for Quirrel to come down, to which he does. It’s only then that the Pale King notices the colored banners flanking the short stairway. The pattern on them resembles a sun rising out of the earth.

But he trails after Quirrel on the stairs, unsure of what might come next.

Thio leans against a cool, mossy wall, still grinning that terrible grin. “Hey, Quirrel,” they say, “go stand against the wall, okay? You’ll se why.”

He hesitates, but he takes a step forward onto the stone that flanks the wooden wall—

And a series of click resonate from behind the earth, and with a final clunking noise, the wall parts to reveal a warmly lit wooded hallway.

“Welcome,” Thio says with a flourish, “to my humble abode.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! I have another chapter for you, once again from PK’s perspective. I hope he likes engineering, because he’s about to get an earful from Quirrel and Thio.  
> Enjoy and leave a comment!
> 
> —Steele


	25. Beautiful

Immediately, the Pale King bursts out in questions, unable to contain his wonder at the engineering marvel he just witnessed.

“What on earth was that?” He demands, making Thio jump. “Was there a lever or a button system? What on earth did you use to move that?!” Thio looks a little startled, and it’s only now that he realizes that Quirrel is standing on something—a plate of some kind. He suspects it’s a pressure activated system.

Quirrel seems more excited than inquisitive, though. “How marvelous!” He exclaims, leaning into the doorway in a gesture that’s frighteningly similar to something Monomon would do—he swears, her assistant is a carbon copy of her, right down to his words.

“Thanks!” Thio says, directly to Quirrel and ignoring the Pale King’s questions. “It took me a while to perfect that. It’s redstone, obviously.”

Silence.

Thio looks back and forth between them, looking a little taken aback. He doesn’t understand. Is he supposed to know what “redstone” is supposed to be?

“You....” Thio says slowly, a look like horror dawning on their dotted face, “you do have redstone where you come from, right? Like, redstone contraptions? Right?”

“Uh,” Quirrel says awkwardly. “No? Erm, what’s redstone?”

Thio’s jaw drops as if Quirrel had just admitted to murder. But then they shake their head decisively. “You know what?” They say tightly. “Just follow me. If we’re going to be friends, you HAVE to know redstone. But for now, just....let’s get those supplies. Mind the door, it won’t close on ya, I set the tick speed pretty far.”

Even with that promise, he all but jumps through the doorway, which clunks shut as soon as he’s a few steps away.

The halls are long and obviously made with someone of Thio’s height, and there’s no evidence of wiring or switches for their “redstone” door contraption. The walls, floor, and ceiling are made of pinkish-brown wood, ringed intermittently by whole stripped tree trunks. Divots in the wall hold warm-colored lanterns that give the place a warm, rustic, homely feeling.

It’s unlike any architecture in Hallownest. While his kingdom’s buildings were intricate and made of metal and stone, the things that Thio has built feel more familiar and welcoming with their warm colors that match Thio themself.

They only have to walk a little few steps before they come to a large room that looks to be connected to three other rooms—one across and one on either side. Barrels and chests litter the room, and though they’re unmarked, it looks like Thio already knows which one contains the food they promised his people.

There’s no way such a small chest could contain much food though, which is confusing.

They crouch down and yank it open with a creak as Quirrel wanders the room, taking in the foreign building. “What type of food do bugs eat, majesty?” They ask, rifling through whatever they have in the chest.

He has to think for a minute before answering—he’s still a Wyrm, no matter what form he takes. And his kind doesn’t require much sustenance to live. And even then, he’ll eat just about anything.

“Mostly plants. A few eat fungi and other, smaller and more animal bugs,” the Pale King says slowly. Thio nods along without looking up at him, and shoves their hand even deeper into the chest.

“Yeah, I can pull that off,” they mumble. “Now where did I—oh! Here we go.” They suddenly pull their arm out (which went deeper than he thought possible for a chest of that size) and in their hand is.....a small....vegetable. And then, it dissolves into white and turns into a brown, lumpy plant.

Alright. This has gone on long enough—and now, his curiosity is getting the better of him. “Alright, how are you doing that?” He asks. Thio looks up innocently.

“Do what?” They say quizzically, their face the picture of puzzlement. He points at the item in their hand.

“That!” He says. “How do you....just pull things out of nowhere?” 

“I just have them in my inventory. This is like, sixty-four potatoes and carrots. I can grab some ‘shrooms, too.” They say, still sounding confused. He sighs.

“What is your “inventory”?” He elaborates. “From what I’m seeing, it’s some kind of....extra-dimensional space? Or...?”

Something seems to click into place for Thio. “Wait,” they say, eyes now wide from where they’re crouching, “you don’t have an inventory? It’s like, a place where you can put stuff! Most stuff you can put in stacks, which is, uh, sixty four....pieces. That’s a stack. Even rocks and dirt.”

“Really?” He says. That’s definitely interesting—disconcerting, even. This being can carry entire houses on their person. He suddenly remembers the the tunnel path that he thought he’d just missed—and the probable tons of rock that disappeared. Is this inventory where that stuff went?

“Yeah!” Thio answers cheerfully. “You really don’t have one?” He shakes his head, and Thio stands up, the vegetables disappearing in a small flash.

“I already have the supplies to build some temporary shelters,” they say, breezing past him.

Much to Quirrel’s evident disappointment, they leave the underground base. But as the clearing disappears behind them, he can’t help but think about this strange place. Contraptions he could never dream of, extra-dimensional storage spaces, underground homes made of wood.

What a strange, wonderful world he’s stumbled into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twenty five chapters! Thank you all so much for your support and responses to this work! It’s been phenomenal! Enjoy and leave a comment!
> 
> —Steele


	26. Block by Block

Seemingly even more invigorated by their discussion on their powers, Thio presses on through the forest even faster than before, making it hard for Quirrel to keep up. Though the Pale King has no trouble keeping pace, he keeps his eyes on their guide’s hands.

After all, he has no idea what things they’re capable, now that the horizons of what’s possible has been expanded. But now, he’s not watching for warning signs. He’s watching out of curiosity.

Before long, the green pasture is within view. Now, the sun is right overhead, sending hot and merciless waves of sun to the earth—and onto his citizens. Judging by the moans and groans, the nobles from the cooler City of Tears have already begun to complain.

This was why he made Lurien and his Root take care of social matters. But their complaints draw Thio’s attention, who immediately flutters over to them, spitting out question after question at the nobles. Though they seem intimidated by Thio’s strange appearance, they’re quick to take a shoulder to cry on to bemoan their troubles to.

He watches as Thio makes a skeptical, then exasperated face, and then a small sticklike thing appears in their hand. The Pale King, who’s rejoined his Root, leans forward to see—this must be how their inventory works.

Thio fixes their bright eyes on a place in the grass—then point their right hand, the hand with the stick, towards it.

And a dark brown fence post appears on the ground. Just like that, as if out of nowhere.

“My,” his Root remarks, peering towards them with him, “what manner of magic is that, Wyrm?”

“They call it their inventory,” he replies, squinting as Thio proceeds to set down three more posts to make the outline of a rectangle, “I theorize it works by compressing matter and storing it in these little “stacks”. I’ve never seen anything of the sort.”

She hums, considering. “Sounds like Grimm’s sort of thing.” He scoffs, though she’s absolutely right.

Thio gets to work, adding two more posts onto each end, and then, they summon an incredibly angular block of dirt under them, and add planks of the same rustic brown wood on top. As they add more square planks, which fit together as if they were made that way, they form a roof.

The nobles who had been complaining are stunned speechless, but they hurry under the quick shelter Thio’s made for them.

But when Thio turns around, a large crowd has gathered. Tens to hundreds of glittering eyes watch them, beasts and bugs, mantises and bees alike. Even Herrah watches from afar, a rare expression of being impressed on her face. 

He laughs a bit under his breath. That’s exactly what it’s like to be a King. But unlike him, Thio looks absolutely distraught.

“Uhhh,” he hears them say in a panicky, high voice, “um. Anybody else need a place to stay?” A bug he recognizes as a builderbug—however secretive the little architects may be, he knows a few of their faces. The others stay well hidden, doing their sacred business of construction and planning at night.

Anyway, a bug he recognizes as a builderbug has sidled into the front of the crowd, hungry eyes taking in every inch of Thio. It’s almost laughable how desirable their guide is now, and not for their appearance or apparent beauty, as some vain bugs my think.

But for their building instead.

Thio is quickly ushered away by nameless and faceless citizens to build more for them—he even sees Ogrim give Thio a rather forceful pat on the back.

“I think I like them,” his Root says amicably, a smile on her pale face.

He can’t help but agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there!  
> I noticed our cast for the past few chapters was very same faced, so I threw in some more people! And the builderbugs, who desire Thio for their sexy, forbidden blöck.  
> I hope you enjoy! Leave a comment!
> 
> —Steele


	27. Dreaming

It’s a pleasant day, it really is. Even as tiny bugs swarm around them and insistently ask when it will be their turn for a small home. Thio does what they can as fast as they can, building tiny spruce sheds, some of which even have fenced walls. They will protect against the elements for now, and they’re at least a little more aesthetically pleasing than cobblestone.

They purse their lips as they set down the last corner of one of the tiny structures. Honestly, me. The last thing they should be worried about right now is how nice these things look! But they build for looks by nature, it’d grate at their nerves to build something ugly.

They finish up on one tiny structure, and just as they do, an imposing, horned shadow looms over the grass before them. Thio knows who it is before they even turn around.

Herrah the Beast, as she was introduced, stands with her arms crossed behind them, expression unreadable. It really gets uncanny, how these people wear masks. Thio can never tell what they’re thinking.

“Something I can do for ya, Herrah?” They say with a raised eyebrow. It’s only then that they notice a tiny bug wearing an oversized red poncho-thingy, peeking out from behind Herrah’s back.

“If you would,” Herrah says, though it sounds like she’s choosing her words carefully, “I need a structure for my people. They are unaccustomed to the....heat, of this world. I fear the roofs you have been building will not suffice. Is there a nearby cave we may shelter in?”

Thio blinks, pulling up from their crouching position. “I can do you one better than that. How big do you need this space to be? Like in blocks?”

Herrah turns her head, a bit perplexed. “I am...unfamiliar with that unit of measurement.” Ah, of course. Oh well, they’ll just have to wing it with this one.

Thio gestures for her to follow, and as she does, the tiny bug trails after them as well. Thio briefly wonders if Herrah is even aware of their presence. But nonetheless, they don’t say anything. When they’re a fair distance away from the other sheds, they start digging.

The earth cracks in immaculate blocks with barely any effort, even though Thio’s not using a shovel. In no time at all, they have a little entrance onto stone level. They carve out the rest with their pickaxe, making a ten by eleven hollow a few blocks under the surface.

When they climb back out, brushing dirt off their shoulder, they look up to see Herrah’s shocked face. And they do their best not to smile. They knew that would happen. Call them a show off.

“Will this do?” They say as they stand up.

Herrah nods. “It will. Thank you, Thio.” She lumbers into the entrance, ducking to fit herself under the doorway. Thio winces. Maybe they should’ve made that a little taller.

But they’re pulled from their thoughts when something pokes at their leg. They look down to meet the giant eyes of a tiny, red-dressed bug who’s hopping up and down while clutching Thio’s leg.

“Uh,” they say, unsure of what to do, “hi there.”

“Hi!” The child chirps back, with the highest voice Thio’s ever heard. “I’m Hornet! Thanks for building me and Mama a place to stay! You build stuff really fast! One time the people who build tunnels back home showed me how to do it, and it took them a really long time!” 

Thio’s face lights up. So this kid is Herrah’s daughter! She’s awfully chatty, it’s...endearing. To see what a chatterbox this kid is, compared to her mother. “Is that so?” They say. “Well, I am a pretty good builder.”

“Yeah!” The kid replies. “They said I had to know how to do it, because I’d need to know how when Mama went to sleep! But now that we’re here, Mama doesn’t need to go to sleep anymore! We’re gonna be together forever now!”

Wait a minute, what?

The sounds of Hornet’s happy chatter fades into the background. What did she mean by....that? Thio is by no means an expert on children, but isn’t that a little.....morbid? For a child to say? Did she mean that she was the heir when her mother should die? But then why did she say that Herrah didn’t need to “sleep” anymore?

They frown a little. The King has referred to Monomon, Herrah, and tiny Lurien as Dreamers before. Ex-Dreamers. Maybe that has something to do with it?

How strange, and a little concerning.

How strange indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens as the bugs settle into their new home. But what comes next? Enjoy and leave a comment!
> 
> —Steele


	28. A Start (However Late and New)

The little structures that Thio builds are popping up all over the place, he can see. Even proud Herrah came to ask for aid.

Even in this form, the Pale King still retains his senses—though he ignores them as second nature at most moments. But even so, he senses the discomfort of most of the bugs and beasts around him. Their presences, in both his worldly senses and his magically inclined ones, are like dots of his own white light that surround him on all sides, only interrupted by the slightly dimmer pillar of light from his wife.

The people of Deepnest are probably the least accustomed to such heat and light, he realizes. In the tunnels of Deepnest, there are few light sources, and buried within the soil and far from the surface, their home is cooler than even the City of Tears. It’s no wonder they’d be appalled by the midday heat.

Not that he’s any more comfortable with it. Grimm has often described him as icy cold to the touch—it’s why he and the Troupe Master do not shake hands or otherwise touch. The difference in the temperatures generated by their lights are too far apart. It’s physically painful on both sides.

At the moment, the Pale King stands on the whispering, vibrant grass next to his wife, with quiet Hegemol behind them. Since the existence of the still-mysterious creatures called “mobs” was made apparent, along with the fact that these beings are undead and hostile, his royal knights have somehow made a unanimous decision to keep one of themselves at the King’s side at all times. He didn’t order it, and neither did the White Lady, to his knowledge.

It’s...a little heartwarming. Not that the term really applies to him considering his apparent coldness, but....it is somewhat nice that Dryya, Ze’mer, Hegemol, Isma, and Ogrim have some modicum of fondness for himself and the Queen.

Even despite the things he’s done. The five knights were among the few bugs and members of his court who were allowed to know some of what was going on in the Abyss, and his workshops. He convinced himself, at that time, that the concerned and quiet looks he received from the knights at the corners of his eyes were paranoia, his imagination. But perhaps he was just too proud, then, to acknowledge their concern. He is a King, after all.

But is he still a King? He has no true kingdom. Unlike Deepnest, his own citizens didn’t admit defeat and pack up so quickly. Perhaps it was because Deepnest was so much smaller than his own territory, and loyalty to their Beast-Queen ran deep and wise. But he’s not so sure that what Herrah reportedly said about her people applies to his own. “The spirit of Deepnest lies in its people, not the place where they where they reside.”

Maybe he had let privilege and class divide the people of Deepnest. But now the noble bugs from the City of Tears, down to the dusty miners and mantises and bees sat together on the grass, some of them under the same roof and exchanging words. The discomfort is easy to sense, even without any of his extra senses. But he would like to think that the divide is lessening. Maybe their emigration from their old, strictly outlined kingdom had become a humbling experience.

Perhaps, that is for the better.

In any case, the bright colors of Thio’s hair and armor keep popping up as the afternoon goes on. They’ve presented no trace of the food they apparently took from their infinite supply, though he begins to sense some mild hunger.

Monomon and her main assistant, Quirrel, are on the other side of the crowd, along with some other bugs that used to work in the archives. They’ve seated themselves in an almost religious circle, tightly wound together and chattering. He’s seen several engraved stone plates, leaves, and flowers passed around the circle. He suspects they were plucked as samples for the scholars to obsess over.

Hallow sits beside the White Lady, peering up at the sky with those empty eyes. Whatever they’re thinking is a mystery.

A pang resounds through the Pale King’s heart, however much he tries to ignore it. He wishes that he’d given Hallow the ability to talk, so he could know what they think of this world.

And then, he sees an engraved stone plate passed back from one of Monomon’s scholars to the other, and an idea pops into his head.

Thio, as if sensing some coincidence, is trotting over to him, the same plain, mischievous half-smile on their soft face as they approach. They must interpret some kind of expression from his face somehow, because they tilt their head curiously, with a long piece of dark brown fencing slung over their shoulder.

“Ya think this is good?” They say, tipping their head towards the many roofed shelters that have replaced the empty, open plains, as the fence post in their hand disappears in a flash. “I can make, like, a mess hall or something. Like a place for people to eat and stuff. But I’d need to grab a couple trees first.”

He nods, barely taking in what they’re saying. “Yes, that will be fine. And I have another question for you.”

“Sure.” They shrug casually. “What can I help ya with?”

The Pale King sweeps his arm towards his child, who perks up at the sudden attention. “My child, Hallow, is unable to speak,” he says. “Are there any portable writing or drawing materials that you possess? I would like to have a way to communicate with them properly.”

Thio opens their mouth, frowning, as if to say something in the negative, but then something lights up in their eyes. “Ooh!” They jolt straight up. “Yes! I do! I have a quill and paper they can use! Not with me right now, of course. But it should be pretty easy to teach a kid how to write, I, uh. Think.” Hallow moves up next to the King, staring wonderingly up at Thio.

“Thank you for your assistance, Thio,” the King says, nodding again. 

“Not a problem.” They answer without halting for once, as if the action of providing a wordless child a voice is nothing to them. “I’m gonna pass out some food—actually!” Their tone changes halfway through the sentence, from casual to enlightened,

Before he can ask what they’re about to do, Thio’s eyes go distant—as if they’re not staring into space, but into nowhere. It catches him off guard, to say the least.

And with a small flash, there’s a warm brown, patterned square represented in their hand, and when they aim it at the ground, a large cube of the same look pops up.

It’s startling. To see such a thing done with so much ease, and Thio acts like it’s nothing.

They place one hand inside the other, clamping down and making a loud, alarming, cracking noise, like a shell breaking. Hallow winces.

“This,” Thio says, without looking at any of them, “is a crafting table. It’s where you can build stuff on by using materials from your inventory—of course, you don’t have inventories, so I’ll stop talking now. I’m just going to build some planks so I can make a little table.” As he absorbs all this information, Thio places their left hand on the crafting table, and in their right hand, an icon of a plank of wood pops up. They place it along the three bottom squares in a three-by-three pattern on the top of the “crafting table”, and surprisingly, they float there.

In a small square under the nine configuration, a symbol like a plank of wood cut in half pops up. Thio taps it several times, and several slabs of wood are suddenly in their right hand.

It’s amazing. As soon as they take their hands away, the things on the table flash right back to Thio’s body, as if being absorbed. Though he’s stunned, the Pale King chooses not to comment, though Hallow leans forward and touches the edge of the table with a tentative claw.

Thio laughs, looking down at them. “Maybe I’ll teach you how to use it, kid,” they say. “Come over if you guys get hungry.” With that, they turn tail an walk away, ad if they didn’t just do something that’s technically, and by all means, impossible. He doesn’t bother explaining that Hallow, being a vessel, doesn’t require food, and neither do him and his wife. That would only mean more questions, and now is not the appropriate time for that.

Something tugs on his sleeve, and this time, he doesn’t need to look down to know it’s Hallow. He does it anyway.

They curl into themself slightly, before haltingly putting their hands together as if in prayer. It’s a common sign in older regions of Hallownest, one he recognizes well.

It means “thank you.”

He simply nods slowly, not answering the silent thanks with words.

Maybe giving Hallow a voice doesn’t mean this is the end. He knows that. It doesn’t make up for what he’s done.

But it’s a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s a long chapter to make up for lack of updates. I’ve been very busy drawing and such.  
> And I noticed that we’re approaching 30 chapters. It might not be long, but this is still my longest and proudest work I’ve ever written and published.  
> I’m touched that so many enjoy it and comment so regularly. So as always, enjoy and leave a comment.


	29. What a Day, Huh?

They wouldn’t call this a feat of epic proportions, but the bugs look to be pretty impressed by this. They’re crowding around the wood slabs Thio has placed on the ground. Though they look a little....hesitant. The foreign roots on the table might not look appetizing—including the lukewarm bowls of mushroom and beetroot soup.

Ah, hell. Thio doesn’t have any idea. They’ve been eating potatoes, beetroots, carrots, and sweet berries their entire existences. They’ve got nothing to compare this too.

Thio leans their forearm on a random, misplaced fence post that they haven’t bothered to take down yet—they don’t have their axe on them, regretfully, and they don’t want to send some curious bugs into shock by breaking it with their fists.

They had briefly contemplated running off to smack a squid in the nearby river and grab some sugarcane to make the book they promised the Pale King. It was a bit of a shock to learn that the lanky bug that had been afraid of the sun was the....heir? To the kingdom?

Actually. They frown, lost in thought. Monomon mentioned something offhandedly last night, about the Pale King being a god. 

Last night.....it feels like it was years ago. It’s not like the hazy feeling they get on the most quiet, mundane days. Not like the feeling that’s occurred more and more in recent times, where they forget that they’re there and that they have things to do. When they stop thinking of themself as Thio—when they stop thinking of themself at all. Days would stretch out like months, and they’d forget things that shouldn’t be forgotten.

Like the nether-travel system that they once thought up. They took to it up with an uncanny enthusiasm, but then it took an entire kingdom’s migration to remind them of it.

The electric adrenaline that’s been in their veins since they woke up last night in a hit sweat doesn’t make it any better. It only changes those same distant, unfocused feelings. And those days where they just stop.....living, for a while......they scare them.

But the least they could do in those days was scream into the sky, because no one was coming to save them. The only things that ever came to their rescue was the howling of the wind and the creaking of the caves below.

The pressure on their brow suddenly alerts them to the fact that they’re face is creased in concentration, which Thio lets up immediately. They’re glad they haven’t sheared off their wild hair in a bit, because the sunlight-orange locks shield their face from any prying black eyes that might look to them.

In a practiced move they’ve done before, Thio takes a deep breath that fills their lungs with cool, summer-scented air. And then they blow it out. They’ll think about it some other time, Thio tells themself. They will.

Muffled footsteps shuffle through the grass behind them, accompanied by Quirrel’s familiar voice.

“Is this lunch?” He calls, a slightly humorous lilt to his voice. They can see a slab of dark gray stone clutched under his arm. They smile back lazily.

“It is indeed.” They hope their pretty face and natural charisma are enough to erase the scowl from their skin. “You tried any?”

Quirrel falters, looking at them as if confused. “Erm, no,” he says awkwardly. “I don’t exactly have a place to eat—oh!” His face suddenly lights up like a redstone lantern. “Oh, you don’t know!”

Thio knows immediately that they’ve missed something.

“Lemme guess,” Thio says, pushing themself off the rogue fence post. “I did a big mess-up, didn’t I?” Quirrel laughs, holding his hands up and waving them side to side, a dismissive gesture.

“No no,” he laughs, “there’s no way you could’ve known. You’ve never had a Hallownest meal, so there’s no need for distress. You’ve noticed that we all wear masks, right? To imitate the King? It’s quite an old practice.”

It’s kind of obvious, despite the fact that Thio’s pretty sure that the King isn’t....wearing....a mask. But they just nod, and answer, “Yeah?” So as not to make the conversation awkward.

Quirrel goes on. “It’s considered.....well, not exactly “impolite”, but no one takes their mask off around one another unless they’re, well, spouses or family. And such. That might be why no one’s eating.”

Ah.

“Weird.” They say. They meant to keep it in their head but they ended up thinking aloud. Quirrel chuckles.

“I suppose it would seem strange to someone from another realm,” he comments. “I would recommend you build some walls somewhere so people can eat in peace. I know it may seem strange, but I think that’s the best course of action.”

Thio nods along, taking in everything Quirrel’s saying, and the gets right to work. They need something to occupy their hands anyway, and some walls? That’ll be fine. Most of the bugs that they’ve seen are about a block and a half tall, coming up to their ribs. Even if the Pale King looks like his.....crown? Horns? Whatever they are, those could be used as a weapon in and of itself.

They push through the crowds near the makeshift banquet table, building small shelters as they go. When they do, a few bugs will each file into them, squabbling all the way. Thio still has enough oak logs on them to make a few more. Even a few Hallownest citizens go back to their original, fence-and-slab shelters and hunch over to eat their strange new foods.

By the time the table is empty, the sun is once again approaching the horizon.

What a damn day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! Yay.   
> People, I swear the plot will actually move soon. I am just nit exactly the best at moving things along, so I’m practicing to figure that stuff out.  
> There will definitely be more points of view thrown in soon. Like the knights, Quirrel, maybe even Herrah if I’m feeling funky. But Thio will gradually begin to figure out what exactly drove the bugs from their home.....  
> And what that means for them.
> 
> Enjoy and leave a comment!
> 
> —Steele


	30. Interlude: Shun the Light

_ In Hallownest, the buildings are empty. Not just of precious valuables, or moving bodies. _

_ Hallownest is empty of minds, and most of all, empty of dreams. Dreams that in another world, the dimension of sleeping minds, is filled with gut-wrenching screams. _

_ The Wyrm has taken what is hers from her again! Once again, that bastard of a false-god-king has stolen from her! She throws lances of sickly light into the ever-stretching sky,  with no target other than wherever her minds, her citizens have gone. _

_ There are no minds and no dreams for her to scream through, nothing and no one to beat witness to her power and pain and anger and hatred of that THING that dares call itself a King in HER KINGDOM! _

_ She will not be so merciful as to grant him a quick death. She will assure that he does not shed that imitation shell of his while she rips him limb from limb. He has reduced her kingdom to a hollow shell. A tomb, a grave. _

_ HER grave. _

_ He will pay dearly. He and all his petty little bugs he calls “Dreamers” so pretentiously. Their dreams were impenetrable to her, but that does not mean she does not know the whispers of the Wyrm’s plans for her infection—her gift of malice to those disloyal ones who abandoned her when she used to give them gentle and restful dreams. _

_ But they still took her for granted, instead choosing that IMPOSTER. That....that THING whose pale and colorless light is nothing like hers, who speaks nor shows his true self to his citizens. _

_ They are gone. Gone, disappeared, all at once as if into nowhere, leaving their true ruler in a shallow grave like a mockery. The moth tribe are even gone, her most loyal followers until the end. Or perhaps not as loyal as their decimated, tiny dreams had suggested. They too have followed the Pale Wyrm to wherever he has spirited her own away to. _

_ Find them. She must find them. Her minds, she must take her infection with her, show that worm that he cannot hide what is hers from her for long. She wants to see the hope leave his hollow, unfeeling eyes, when she takes back what is hers. Him, and that root-bride of his. _

_ And it will be hers again. _

_ Livestock, bugs with minds too small for the light of higher thought. That is all that remains in her crypt of a kingdom. Never did she think she’d lower herself to inhabit these lowly life-forms, but their hazy and small minds she must now use to find her way to her people. _

_ It could take centuries. That is fine. Let the pale bastard have his damned peace for as long as he likes—sooner rather than later, she will crush that insurrectionist and all memory of his pale light.  _

_ She rockets through the unfocused minds of animals, leaving several to die and wither beneath her power. She extends as much of her power through the earth and air and flora as she can, clawing for an exit, a place she may have missed before. A place where a false king could carry away her people. There is nothing, nothing, NOTHING. _

_ The Void yawns below, expectantly daring her to so much as touch it. She avoids it. There is no way the Wyrm, whatever he was doing down there, has opened a gate through the Abyss. As long as she has existed, no higher being has commanded the inky darkness, but it possesses a mind of its own nonetheless. Maybe many minds. She does not know. The darkness down there is an affront to her, to her light and her claim on these lands. She has always hated it, sworn to destroy it, even eons before a Wyrm’s corpse collapsed in her lands. _

_ The Void is an enigma—even in the earliest of her birth, it seemed as if it were the still-scorching site of some great battle, which sent small puddles of inkiness to all the corners of the earth. Even the wastes can be found interlaced with it. But it settled until the Pale Wyrm broke into it, to harvest its power. It did not yield to his light either, just as it consumed her own wherever she touched it. Whatever higher being once commanded the sinister black nothingness is long gone now, has been forever. And it will be commanded by no other.  _

_ Once, that fact irked her to no end. But now, she takes some modicum of satisfaction in the thought that not even that pretender could command the blight under his stolen kingdom. _

_ She avoids its reaching fingers, whipping through all the corners of her lost lands. Not a shroom, mantis, hive-dweller, or even a marm remains. Gone. All of them. All of HER people. _

_ For a while, the Radiance rages through the corpse of a kingdom like a vengeful wind. She withdraws and sends out her own tendrils of power, searching furiously. _

_ Until she finds something. _

_ King’s Pass. The aptly named “entrance” to the Wyrm’s underground home. She remembers the day he entered, through that same pass between mountains. A dark, unfamiliar magic that swirls in the road. _

_ A frame of voidlike stone offends her view, swirling with an indigo magic in its center. The other side is hazy. She glares as she approaches, scrutinizing every inch of magic. But it seems indifferent, it’s magic holding no intention, as most enchantments do. It simply feels....normal. _

_ A gateway. A door between one place and the other, with no purpose other than for people to go to and fro through it. That is what this dark, reprehensible abomination is, and there’s only one damnable creature who could create it. _

_ The Wyrm. This is his doing, and she knows, knows, KNOWS that this door leads to her people. This is how he made them disappear. _

_ And she shoots to it, touching the indifferent, spiraling magic— _

_ And is thrown backwards. _

_ WHAT? _

_ With a sudden fury, the stagnant doorway erupts in intention—the violet swirls that stay within the boundary roil like storm clouds, the whispers and particles around it increasing in intensity. _

_ And the intention is pure, untouched, hostility. _

_ This doorway is not indifferent. It rejects her, holds a shield between her and her people. No. _

_ No, it’s more specific than that. The Radiance can feel what it rejects right to her very core, what it hates and why it denies her entry. _

_ It rejects her hostility, her light, her possessiveness of her people, who belong to her rightfully. _

_ And unable to move forward, the Radiance, forgotten God of Dreams, screams with a fury that shakes the dream world and every drop of Essence and Soul in it. _

_ She circles the doorway from her world, throwing volley after volley of attacks at it, all of which dissipate into nothingness before they even touch the frame. It must be made of the void, must have been dredged up from the Abyss. Only that, and no other thing, could reject her so thoroughly, so threateningly and intending to consume her. _

_ The Radiance rages and rages and screams and blasts her anger like rays of cruel sunlight. _

_ She will find another way. She will follow that Wyrm and she will get what is her again. _

_ She will. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ladies, gals, and non-binary pals. Welcome.  
> To chapter thirty.  
> I can’t believe I’m here. Thank you all so much—I couldn’t have done this without the support I’ve had. Or the story that inspired it. I was astonished to find that so many liked this weird story—it’s not exactly a conventional crossover. But then again, what is conventional about this time?  
> Please enjoy. And leave a comment, as always.
> 
> With love undying,   
> Steele


	31. Invincible Evening

The sheer amount of bugs that came through that portal is truly impressive—Thio never really got a good look at them at first. They were too high on adrenaline and excitement and anticipation at other people existing to see the sheer variety.

There’s short bugs with strange robes that carry themselves all high and mighty, and they all look about the same, except for the designs of their masks. And there are taller ones that hold spears and give Thio some sideways looks that they don’t really appreciate.

Most of the small ones are shades of gray and blue, which reminds them of a rainy, quiet day. Or Quirrel. Though, Quirrel looks like he’s built a bit differently than the stuck-ups with red robes and blue shells.

There are bees. Which kinda surprised them, because these bees look nothing like the bees here in the Overworld. Their wings are a lot louder, and they never seem to touch the ground.

The ones that really catch Thio’s eye are the tall, horse-like bugs with bristling legs and saddles on their backs. There’s only a few, but they remind them of their old horse, Squid. But that memory is a bit sour. Squid died a few long-times ago, in battle with a surprise raid. All the emeralds and crossbows in the world didn’t make up for their beloved mount’s passing.

There’s even giant worm-looking creatures, centipedes and spiders that rival even cave spiders, bugs of all colors and textures and sizes.

Thio stalks through the crowds, trying to ignore the stares they keep getting. It’s a little overwhelming to be the center of attention—despite the numerous nights they’ve spent dreaming about someone calling them pretty and complimenting them.

Maybe it’s a but conceited, but they do think they’re probably the prettiest of the creatures that naturally live in the Overworld. Auburn hair and freckles and an impeccable sense of taste in clothing, if they do say so themself. But being stared at by hundreds of dark and unreadable masks....

Well, like they said. It’s a little overwhelming.

Most of the bugs and spiders have settled under their roofed huts, out of the way of the sun. Thio’s heard the Pale King and some other mention that their original home was underground, so it does make sense they’d shy away from the heat.

They’re so busy looking back at the bugs that they don’t notice the shadow in front of them, at least, not until they slam right into them.

Thio stumbles a few steps backwards, trying to regain their footing but ultimately falling backwards and onto the ground with a quiet “oof.”

“Hm? Oh, I apologize, little thing,” a gruff, quiet voice says from above. “I did not see you approaching—oh!”

A large, chitinous hand extends from above, which Thio gladly takes. The sun obscures their vision as they are pulled back to their feet with considerable strength.

Standing before them is a stout, thickset bug with a navy blue cape and a paint-splattered, whit apron. His pronged mask tips up to peer at Thio, who, surprisingly, only stands a few inches above him. With most bugs, they only come up to their ribs. 

“Ah! Such a strange bearing, and a bold face,” the hulking bug says jovially, shoulder shaking as their voice booms. “You must be our guide then! I must say, I’ve never seen a creature as strange as you. You lack both shell and mask, and your colors make you look poisonous. I would love to paint you.”

Thio takes a minute to register their words, but the aren’t finished talking, apparently.

“I am Sheo!” They declare, hand coming away from theirs. “I was once a master of the nail, but I laid my weapon down to instead pursue a life of art and creation. But I must say, I saw that you wielded a strange nail with ease. Are you also a master of the blade?”

“Uh,” Thio says, “I’d, uh, like to think so. And I’m guessing you’re r-referring to my sword? I’ve never heard it called a nail before....” they feel way too awkward, like they’d rather be anywhere else.

Sheo nods vigorously, pressing a hand to the chin of his mask with a clink. “A sword, you say? Perhaps when we are settled, may I see your blade? It would be wondrous to see such a weapon in action!”

“Sure,” Thio answers immediately. Weapons, they can do. If what this guy wants is a spar, then they can provide. Words, on the other hand, they can’t do. 

“Marvelous!” Sheo chortles, clapping Thio on the shoulder with a strength that near knocks the wind out of them. “By the way, I don’t think I fought your name, guide.”

They answer before turning around to go back the way they came, a little shaken from the sudden encounter. “It’s Thio.”

No more is said. They speed to the edges of the encampment, breathing hard. Talking to people shouldn’t be that hard. Being around people definitely should not be that hard. But they come away from the encounter feeling....kind of better. About the bugs who now inhabit their lonely world. 

They felt so distant and different from Thio—but yet they talk like them and are curious like them. Like.....like they’re not quite as far away as they thought. Maybe that’s a bad way to describe that. They don’t know. Words aren’t their strong suit.

But fighting is. Otherwise, Thio wouldn’t be living with a pair of elytra on an armor stand or an unused Nether Star in their secret underground vault. And it’s a good thing that they’re a proficient warrior.

They peer up at the sky, still a light cornflower blue. But the sun is starting to move to the other side of the horizon, and it won’t be long before stars star to show.

And then the mobs will come out.

They grimace, but a knot of excitement rears its head inside their stomach. It makes them feel a little bad. The zombies and the skeletons, and maybe even creepers, are gonna swarm to this area, to try and tear apart any bug or spider or bee who dwells here.

And the only thing standing between the two forces is going to be them and their battered iron sword. Well, maybe they’ll ask Herrah for an assist. Or the Pale King. They vaguely remember Herrah or Monomon mentioning him taking on a ghast in the Nether without ever having taken one on before. So the little shorty sounds like he can handle himself, despite what his height suggests. And he is the King, so it is kinda his responsibility to defend his people, right?

They stand up. Even if they can make it through the night without casualties, they need to take some precautionary measures. Some torches should keep mobs from popping up within the camp and putting the fear of the dragon in them. And the light will keep some at bay. For a while.

They trot back down to the encampment, sorting through their inventory until they find their torches, of which they only have five. Must’ve used them when they were making the pathway up to the surface. But they do have some coal that they were mining before Quirrel popped up. That, combined with the oak in their inventory, will be enough to make some sufficient lights.

All of the bugs have settled into their huts, so the path to the King (who is still noticeably glowing. They’ll have to ask him about that later.) is relatively clear. He turns as they approach, something like wariness flashing in his dark eyes.

So they begin to recite the words they planned on the short walk. “We have an issue,” Thio announces, swaggering over to stand directly in front of him. “Night is approaching.”

The white tree-person who always seems to trail him answers instead. “Why would that be an issue, Thio?” Her voice is surprisingly gentle, which takes Thio off guard a bit. 

“Once night falls,” they say slowly, searching for the right words, “the mobs will come out. Ya know, the undead things I was talking about? Like the exploding creepers? There are more types of those, and they’ll attack anything that isn’t themselves.”

“How can we defend against these creatures?” The Pale King finally demands. They’re more than happy to provide and explanation.

“Mobs,” Thio says, “cannot appear where there is large amounts of light. So I’m going to set up torches to keep them away for a while. Do be careful, though, the torches will burn ya. Other than that, the only way to get rid of them is to kill them. Different mobs spawn in different biomes. Like here, zombies, skeletons, creepers, and uh. Spiders spawn. Not like, spiders like Herrah. These spiders are different.”

The Pale King and the tree-lady nod along. She inquired softly. “What are the abilities of these creatures? Are they difficult to defeat?”

“Nnnn....not exactly,” they explain, “Creepers will explode if they get near you, so it’s best to take them out from the distance. Spiders are only hostile at night, so you can leave them alone during the day. Skeletons are annoying, though. They carry bows, and they shoot at you from a distance. Just like creepers, ya wanna take ‘em out as fast and as far away as possible. Zombies will take about four good whacks with a sword, maybe less if you’re strong. But they just hit. They’re only really dangerous if they try to swarm or catch ya off guard.”

The Pale King has apparently already made his plan, because he starts to talk as soon as Thio stops to take a breath. “We will gather the Knights of Hallownest,” he says, though Thio doesn’t really know....who....who that is. “Thio?”

“Uh, yeah?”

The King affixes them with an intense stare. “I’d like you to lead my Knights in thsi endeavor. They are the finest warriors that Hallownest has to offer, but you are the only one who knows how to keep this area safe. Will you?”

Oh, Wither and Ender Dragon above. That’s not what they were expecting. But Thio swallows, tries to summon some of their usual bravado, and answers. “Sure. I can do that.”

“Good,” the King says, and they swear they hear him let out a relieved breath and his shoulders sag a little. “We will gather them.”

“Better get them fast,” Thio says, glancing at the sky again. “Time flies in the Overworld. I’ll get to setting those torches up.”

That’s all that’s said as they walk away, tattered remains of their cape fluttering in the breeze behind them.

This is going to be one hell of a night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pk: I—  
> Thio: SHAWTY
> 
> Anyway. Have a chapter. Happy thanksgiving to my American peeps! The first real night is coming, and Thio is soon to encounter the legendary great knights of Hallownest. How will they react?  
> Also they refer to Sheo as they because Thio still doesn’t quiet get the whole “gender” thing. Enjoy and leave a comment!
> 
> —Steele


	32. Conference With the Greatest

Evening dyes the sky pale lilac, almost matching Thio’s shirt, and the smallest pinpricks of stars are peering through the darkest point of the horizon. They’re glad they ended up wearing their good armor—this is gonna be like the Nether in the Overworld. Just the thought of the sheer amount of mobs that’ll be drawn to this area is enough to make them shiver.

They set down the last of their torches beside a hut, giving the residents a pointed look and emphasizing that they’re not to touch these things. It will hurt. Badly.

Thio stands up, straightening their back and heading a couple bones pop. The iron sword in their inventory is still in.....semi-good condition. It should last through the night. And if it doesn’t....oh well. They still have an axe on them. And the King said they’d have help, so they’ll probably be fine.

They grimace as they walk away, even though the area is well lit. The King asked them to lead a group. Of Hallownest Knight bug-people, who sound really, really important. He didn’t say he wanted them to work with them—he said he wanted them to lead.

They’re really not sure about that. It feels like there’s bees in their stomach. Is this what it feels like to want to make a good impression? If so, Thio doesn’t want it. This is horrible.

But they’re not about to skimp out on an agreement—to be honest, they haven’t really gauged much about the Pale King, other than that he’s apparently a god, he’s short, and he can at least take a joke.

They’re just about to head back around to see the King and his Knights, when a sharp, expectant voice comes from behind them.

“Are you Thio?”

They swivel around, only to be met with the sight of a bug in blindingly white armor, with sharp-looking edges. They have their hands on their hips, and they’re looking at them from under their equally as blinding mask.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Thio answers, turning around and putting their hands on their hips to mimic this bug—they don’t know what it is about them, but this bug is kinda already getting on their nerves. “And you are?”

“Dryya, of the Great Knights of Hallownest,” they reply sharply. Oh. “Please follow me. I will show you to the others.” 

Well. They’ve already screwed over this first impression. Thio swallows, and follows after Dryya without another word. It’s not like they could make this any worse, right?

The two of the, weave through the sparse crowds.

And it’s not long until Thio can see—well, they’d be kinda hard to miss—they can see a group of bugs in white armor standing silent vigil at the edge of the encampment. White must be some kind of royal or important color, because they’re all wearing it.

Dryya quickens their pace, with Thio following suit.

“Le’mer returns, then?” One of them a tall bug with swathes of something ringing them, and two pairs of antennae mounted on what Thio thinks is their head, says. “Che’ is happy to see you. What a strange land this is, ai.”

Thio blinks. “I thought you said your name was Dryya?” They ask, to which Dryya sighs. Before they can answer, and tall, thickset bug with a jovial voice butts in.

“Ah, that is simply the way Ze’mer speaks!” They say, and then they beckon to Thio with a long claw. “Come, let me see your strange face! Our King thinks you are worthy to lead us. I wish to see the warrior who is so important to these lands.”

Thio purses their lips. Don’t be weirded out. Don’t. Don’t make a bad impression, dammit. “Okay?” They say a little apprehensively, trotting up to the tall bug. Most bugs, they’ve found, only come up to their ribs. But this guy towers over them, which is a bit uncomfortable. They kneel down, peering at Thio’s face closely. They raise an eyebrow at them.

“Oh, Ogrim,” a sweet voice says, and a bug with a skirtlike armor comes around from the back of the tall one, who’s apparently named Ogrim. “Don’t scare the little thing. I’m sure they are quite strong.” They turn their eyes to Thio now. “Don’t be put off, little one! He’s a gentleman, truly.” Thio nods, not wanting to say anything more, but they catalogue the fact that Ogrim’s a “he” for future reference.

“I’m Thio,” they say, a little shakily. “It’s—nice to meet you.....uh....”

Five pale faces adorned in reflective armor peer back at them expectantly, which doesn’t do anything for their nerves.

Suddenly, the tallest and widest of them, who has four eyes on their pronged mask, speaks in a low, insanely rumbling voice. “I am....Hegemol....of....the Great Knights.....of Hallownest. I....am....a “he”. We should.....introduce......ourselves....” he nods at Ze’mer, the one with the unseeable face-mask and the antennae.

“Of course, Hegemol,” Isma says, “what a wonderful idea.” She sweeps into a bow that nearly grazes Thio’s hip—though she’s tall, like the rest of these Knights, she’s only a couple inches above them. “I am Isma, also of the Great Knights of Hallownest. I am a “she”. It is wonderful to meet you, little one.”

Dryya is next to speak. “I’m Dryya, the Queen’s personal guard,” she says curtly, giving Thio a pointed look. “I am a “she”. I do hope that you are as capable as your.....building skills suggest.”

Thio gulps quietly. Yeah, they’re definitely scared of them—her. The Queen, who they can only assume is the tree-person, seems like such a sweet....tree. How is someone as terrifying as Dryya her guard?

“Che’ is Ze’mer,” The wispy gray warrior pipes up bouncing their head once in Thio’s direction. “Le’mer is quite skilled with construction, as fierce Dryya has said! Che’ is called “she”, if le’mer would please.”

Ogrim gives them another hearty wave, booming his own introduction. “I am Ogrim, of the Great Knights. I am a “he”. Now, young Thio, educate us of this threat that we face. Our great King has not said many words on why we must defend this camp so vigorously.”

“That is true,” Isma chimes in. She folds her hands over her waist, her voice suddenly taking in a hushed and worried tone. “Your lands are so strange, warrior. The skies change and the world hums around you! It is very different than our old Hallownest. You must be a capable sovereign to rule such a place with ease.” Thio instinctively flashes a nervous smile. They’re really not the ruler of anything. It’s not like there’s much in the Overworld to rule, other than humming villagers and ruined temples.

“Alright,” they say, placing their hands on their hips. They force their face to be serious, and they’re not quite sure....who to make eye contact with. “What you’re up against are called mobs. They’re undead.....creatures that ap-appear in the Overworld at night. Only at night, too, since the sun—“ they point to the rapidly descending celestial body in the sky “burns them up. There are certain types and-and variations to mobs d-depending on what, uh, biome you’re in. Like, this is a plains biome, so what we have to get rid of tonight a-are skeletons, creepers, zombies, and...um....spiders. No relation to the people of Deepnest, just similar bodies.”

All five of the Knights are huddled together, listening intently to their explanation. They let out a small breath. They were a little afraid that the whole two-different-kinds-of-spiders thing would be an issue. They’re glad to know it isn’t, at least with these particular bugs.

“What are the qualities of these “mobs”?” Dryya says pressing a clawed and armored hand to her chin in thought. “Weaknesses? How can we most efficiently dispose of them?”

Thio clears their throat. No more stuttering. This...is gonna take a while. “Let’s start with zombies.” They clap their hands together, making an awkward clicking noise with their armor. “Zombies are pretty slow, and they usually have no weapons. On the off chance you encounter one with like, a shovel or something, they still shouldn’t be hard to take down. But, they’re pretty durable, and they take quite a few hits to take down. They turn to smoke after they die. All hostile mobs do, for some reason. They look like.....uh. Me. But with blue shirts and green skin that’s kinda rotting. You’ll wanna take the arms off first, though. That’s all they have to attack ya with. You’re only really in danger if they swarm ya.”

Ogrim hums, considering. “Let Hegemol and I deal with these “zombies”, he says confidently, puffing out his chest. “We shall dispose of them quickly.”

“I sure hope so,” Thio fires back. “Make sure to always be moving backwards, though. Don’t give ‘em a chance to take you off guard from the behind, okay?” They give him a pointed look just to drive the idea home—one thing they’ve noticed, is that some bugs just seem to avoid their eyes. Maybe it’s their bright coloring. He nods quickly. Thio rubs their fingers together.

“Alright, what’s next?” They mutter. Ah, right. Skeletons. “Okay, what you’re really gonna want to watch out for is the skeletons. Skeletons are these white, bone-mobs that have bows and arrows. They’re arguably the most dangerous, since they can hit you from afar. Trust me, I’ve been taken out of commission by them way too many times before.” They try not to let a hint of contempt leak into their voice. It fails miserably.

Suddenly, Ze’mer chimes in, tipping their cloaked head. “If le’mer doesn’t mind che’ asking....what is a “bone”?”

All they can do is stare at the Knight blankly. How....how do they not know what bones are? Do—do bugs not have bones? How do you even explain bones to someone who someone who doesn’t know what they are?

“Uhhhh...” they say nervously. “Just....you’ll recognize them by the bow and arrows, okay? Make sure to dust ‘em from a distance. It’s great to have a shield like mine when fighting skeletons.” Thio quickly flashes into their inventory, startling the Knights by pulling out a full, battered shield in a flash of white light, sliding it onto their arm.

They catch the baffled looks on the masked faces. “Erm, I dunno if I have shields you guys could use.” They say sheepishly. Isma shakes her head.

“Isma’s whip should make short of these “bone” creatures,” Dryya says quietly. “And my own speed and stature should make for quick evasion. Is that sufficient, Thio?”

They nod quickly, not wanting to say more to scary Dryya than what is necessary.

“Last but not least....” Thio drags out the last word with venom oh their tone, this time not bothering to conceal it. “Creepers. They’re those little green abominations that crawl around. They have the hugs mouths. Well, I don’t really need to describe them, they stand out like a broken bone. You’re gonna let me deal with those.”

They mean it as, the creepers are difficult to deal with, even for Thio. So they mean to say that they’ll handle them this time, since the Knights have no prior experience with explosive creatures. But they see Dryya’s eyes narrow as soon as the sentence leaves their lips, and a feeling of dread curls in the pit of their stomach.

“I’m sure we are well equipped to deal with “creepers”,” she hisses. “Do not underestimate the Knights of Hallownest, simply because of your own strange magic.”

“Hey, h-hey,” Thio stutters, lifting their hands slightly. They try not to flinch back at her scathing words. “Creepers are hard to deal with, even for me! I don’t want you guys to die! They explode, okay?”

Dryya looks as if she’s about to spit something else back at them, but Isma places a hand on her shoulder. “Come now, Dryya,” she says gently, “we’ve never seen such things. It’s best to leave it to the expert. Don’t be struck down by pride, my dear.”

The words seem to at least get her to simmer down, but a slight hiss comes from behind the pronged mask.

The tension is almost palpable. They almost want to say something back, demand to know why Dryya’s being so rude when Thio’s only doing their best to help. But the words die on their throat when they realize the length of the shadows on the grass below their boots.

With a little dread, Thio looks up to the sky. Navy blue and bright orange paint the horizon as the sun touches the edge of the earth. The stars in the darkest parts of the sky are brightening, and the faintest sliver of moonlight graces the other end of the sky.

It’s nighttime. It’ll only be a few minutes before the undead crawl their way to the lives of the bugs and beasts in the camp.

“Ah,” Ze’mer says shifting to reveal a strange sword beneath their robes. “It is time, che’ thinks.”

“Yeah,” Thio answers. “Spread out. We should guard every part of the camp’s border.”

They spread out without a further word. If there is one thing Dryya will at least do without an argument, it’s take an order. She glares out at the plains like it’s her greatest enemy.

And Thio simply walks to the edge of where the torchlight fades away, their sword appearing in their hand quietly. They bite their lip, just a little. 

And now, all that’s left to do is wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being gone so long! School and stuff. A summary of this chapter is What the Hell are Bones.  
> Sorry for not having the actual night sequence—I didn’t want to make the chapter way too long. But do enjoy and leave a comment!
> 
> —Steele


	33. Is This the Beginning...?

They’ve always felt screaming is a cathartic thing. Like when they screamed bloody Nether at the Ender Dragon, battered and bruised and not knowing if they would make it out alive. Or when they scream at the frustrating task of wiring redstone flush doors. It’s not like there’s anything here to hear them anyway.

And apparently, Dryya feels the same way, because when the first monster of the night, a zombie, sluggishly lunges for her, she yells out something that could be a curse as she turns its head into sludge.

Thio perches on the edge of a dirt tower that’s not too far off the ground—just far enough that they can see the camp from every angle, and the glinting white of torchlight reflecting off of pristine armor.

They tap their fingers on the dusty surface, hand above their eyes, squinting at the forms of the Knights one by one. Each of them stands at attention, hefting a strange weapon, defending the camp from five angles. Thio makes up the sixth, who will dart in and out of the fields to take out creepers or mobs with enchanted weapons.

Over on Isma’s end, a green something flashes out from her grip, knocking a skeleton backwards. Thio lurches forwards nearly falling off the tower, but the white archer explodes into dust immediately after. Wither, the weapons these guys have must be insane. 

They stand up on the tower, steadying themself of their sword’s hilt. This is only the beginning of the night. And that makes them nervous. They’ve been alive long enough to know that mobs can sense the presence of sentient beings from a ways away—and the amount of monsters present in the dark hours can get ungodly thick. This is only the beginning.

With that, they hop off the tower, landing heavily and with a wince. That fall really stung their knees. The other bugs and spiders are huddled in their huts, defended by common guards. Even the tall, green bugs with long lance-swords have a ring of silent guards standing vigil around their people.

The scariest thing is, they have no idea what to do in this situation. They’ve defended their village before, yeah, but villages aren’t ever nearly this populated. The sounds of weapons slicing through the air steadily grows more frequent, as the sharp sickle of the moon climbs the sky. The stars feel like menacing eyes, watching everything going on down in the Overworld. Watching them.

Should they treat this like a raid? Lives, real lives, so unlike the villagers, are on the line. Who is watching them? Thousands of glittering eyes, the eyes of the King, the spiders—it feels like they have no breath in their chest, like the world is spinning around them and watching their every move, their every mistake—

It’s suffocating.

And then, a familiar green appears in the corner of their vision, forcefully yanking them out of their mind and forcing Thio the breathe—when did they stop breathing? 

But their body moves before the rest of them, charging forward with their shield on their arm, anchoring them to the world that really exists—and barreling full-speed towards a creeper.

It hisses, whipping its bulging head around as soon as Thio’s within range, responding by crawling as fast as its little legs will allow. They ready their sword, and as soon as they’re a few paces away, they launch themself up into the air, and slice downward, carving off the side of its face and one of its legs.

The mottled green skin begins to flash white, hissing like a pack of TNT, and as soon as their feet hits the ground, Thio bounces back again, propelled by the steady enchantments on their boots.

One more slash, and the creeper explodes into dust. They let out a breath, finally lowering their shield. Hopefully, Dryya was watching. That will show her how capable Thio is. They smirk. That’ll give them some pride over her.

“AAAAAAAHHHH!”

The sound of a shrill scream sends icy needles jamming into their bones and a pure fight-or-flight response through their mind. Thio jolts around, looking wildly with blurred eyes for the source. And they find it quickly. Isma, far away and with several arrows—several arrows stuck into her shoulder, one arm limp at her side wielding a green whip against several zombies and a skeleton.

They mutter a curse under their breath, and take off across the grass for the lady in distress. With a few desperate cuts, Thio manages to bisect a zombie and deflect the blows from another with their shield.

The whip screams by their face, sending them rolling to the ground to avoid it. It finds its mark on the skeleton’s spine, snapping it and turning it into dust.

The familiar bite of a zombie’s nails thrust into the back of their armor, the warm feeling of blood seeping into their shirt. Thio bites back a scream, twists around, and plunges their sword into the zombie’s heart.

It explodes into white and gray immediately.

Isma and Thio stand there, panting. And then they remember—she’s been shot. Oh, Nether.

“Isma! Um, I mean—“ they reach for the arrows in her shoulder and then pull back, frazzled and unsure of what to do. Oh god, there’s a clear liquid that’s probably blood leaking from her arm, what do they do what do they do—

“I’m fine,” Isma says, sounding like she’s gritting herself teeth. Do bugs have teeth? “I can keep going.” Her voice has a new steeliness to it, that makes Thio not want to argue. They can’t underestimate these bugs. They’re called the Great Knights for a reason. They have to have faith in that.

“O-okay.” Thio nods.

“But—“ Isma whispers, “you should probably go help the others. They’re....they’re going to need it.” Thio frowns. What does that mean? The mobs have been relatively thin, there’s nothing—

And then they see that Isma’s eyes aren’t on them, but the space behind them. In the plains. And a feeling of dread like bile rises in Thio’s throat. Slowly, not wanting to see what’s there, they turn around.

Oh, Wither and Ender Dragon alive. Oh god.

Tens of mobs, legions, are crawling and lumbering with dead and hollow eyes towards the encampment—from all angles. They see Hegemol, wildly using the power of each swing of his spiked spear-thingy to bounce it over to the next. A veritable sea of monsters swarms around Ze’mer. Some have made it past them—guards and the tall, horned bugs bat them back with sharp spears and lances, but it’s only barely keeping them at bay.

Oh, god. Their mouth goes dry. How did this happen? How did a storm arrive when it was just clear? Where did all these mobs come from, anyway?

Isma sends her whip out once again, a look of determination on her mask. One that makes Thio’s heart race—even with her injury, even though she could die. She’s still fighting.

Then they understand. Now’s not the time to think. It’s the time to act. And if they’re such a cosmic screw up that the world would leave them alone for years, they can at least do one thing.

Fight.

It’s time to show these bugs what Thio, the sole explorer and builder and engineer in this world, is capable of.

They speed forward with a momentum, low to the ground, hacking through mobs as they go. Arms and fingers and bones go flying as they pick up speed—a sharp pain of an arrow screams into their midsection, sending a spray of dark blood onto the grass, but they don’t stop. They pick up speed instead, rounding around to Hegemol.

It’s like the world is moving in slow motion, like their mind is ahead of their body—Hegemol’s size makes him powerful, but he’s overwhelmed by sheer numbers. It’s not the skeletons that are dangerous to him, with that thick armor. It’s the zombies slowly swarming him and pulling him down. That’s who they need to take out first.

Thio jumps into the air, plunging their boot into the rotting head of a zombie with a disgusting squelching noise, but it helps them propel themself up again. They twist into a spin, sending rotted flesh flying and smoke into the air as the force tears zombies apart.

Hegemol, thankfully, sees them and doesn’t squish them. He catches on, standing back to back with Thio while continuing to smash through mobs in their blind spot. They can’t help but let a grin into their pretty little face as they plunge a sword into an undead face. Maybe this is going better than they thought.

The last of the zombies turns to dust, letting Thio deflect an arrow with their shield. The arrow buried in their side still cries out, but they clench their teethand dart forward, smashing through the brittle bones.

Hegemol nods a silent thanks to them, repositioning his bludgeoning weapon. They grin back. This won’t be so hard, not with these people on their side—

Another flash of green catches their eye. Another creeper? Come to think of it, there haven’t been very many tonight. They squint to see where it’s coming from—

There is a creeper. Right. Behind. Dryya.

For once, the panic sets in immediately, because there aren’t any words in Thio’s .head other than Dryya, explosion, and creeper, and they’re getting closer and closer as they run and pray for more momentum as they try to get their tongue to move—

“DRYYA! BEHIND YOU!” The words finally rip through their throat, and the Knight jolts immediately, pulling around. Thio is twelve paces away, eight, three—the creeper begins to flash ominous white—

And then, because the world must hate them and wish for their demise, Thio trips on the grass, tumbling to the ground in front of the creeper with a sudden, dawning horror in their chest. They don’t have time to get up—they’re going to have to take the blow. They hear a clink next to their ear, they squeeze their eyes shut, bracing for the burning blow of an explosion and the feeling of their body breaking down into XP.

And it doesn’t hit. A blast of warm air washes over their body, the sound of an explosion rings in their ear, but there’s no burning or spiraling darkness of impermanent death.

It takes them a minute to realize they’re not dead. And when they do, Thio opens their eyes, astounded and ready to get their sword back out—

To see a smoking crater, and next to it, Dryya, with white armor charred and black and-and—

And lying motionless on the grass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is an action packed chapter for y’all. Again, not very good at fight scenes, but I did my best to make this intense and put you on the edge of your seat. Thio does their best.  
> Also, I have a new fic out called “if you would be so kind”. It’s about a human in Hallownest, and it’s inspired by the fic by Bubblebtch, just less horny. Check it out if you like!  
> Enjoy and leave a comment!
> 
> —Steele


	34. Just the Rain

Thio has died before. And they’ve been scared before. But in both of those situations, it passes quickly, leaving them with a fast-beating heart and laboring, relived breaths. This, however. This.

Is different.

Because the fear that roars into their mind when they see Dryya, laid out on the grass with her pristine armor scorched and blackened and her sword in pieces, this fear doesn’t pass.

It feels like an electric shock in their bones, an energy that makes them shake like a leaf in the wind not knowing what to do, what do they do—

Can the bugs come back after dying? Do they have spawn points? Oh god, they haven’t laid out any beds for this first night, so does that mean Dryya will respawn back in the place she comes from? 

A scream builds in their throat, but their flesh feels sealed shut. No sound escapes them but a high, scratchy hiss.

Or will she even respawn at all? Their hands shake, they don’t even realize they’ve dropped their sword and that there are no mobs in sight, because they don’t know what to do or what to say or how to help this creature that they know nothing about—

A cry of something like grief or panic send them flinching so violently it hurts, as a white-cloaked figure sweeps by them—Ze’mer, kneeling by Dryya’s side and yelling in some language that Thio’s senses don’t know. Isma follows behind just as fast, still clutching her weeping wound—she’s not in any better shape than Dryya. Unless....

Thio feels the horrible twist in their throat with a new clarity, reaching forward just the slightest. Unless she’s dead. Unless they’ve failed, and let a life be taken on this night.

“Dry’ya! Knight!” Ze’mer shouts, hesitantly fluttering over the limp body of her comrade. Suddenly, they turn their shrouded face to Thio. “Can le’mer be saved?! Does that creature always kill?”

All they can do choke out words that are only desperately arranged in their mind. “Creepers—no, not always—it depends on-on closeness to the blast and armor and-and—“ it dies in their mouth.

Isma calls out for the Queen, and through blurry eyes Thio can see Hegemol and Ogrim still standing guard over the camp—but glancing over every few seconds. The dim light of the tree-lady approaches, worriedly checking over Dryya’s wounds.

They failed. They failed. They meant to shield her from the blast, their shield could take it and even if they died, they’d just wake up back at home in bed. Now Dryya’sdead or dying and there’s nothing Thio, in their useless, powerless self, can do—

Then it hits them like a fireball from a ghast, a desperate hope that claws it’s way out of Thio’s stomach and forces them to breathe again.

Regeneration potions.

The world comes back into focus. Now isn’t the time to think anymore. Once again, it’s time to act. And they can do that—they’ll just have to be fast.

“I can help!” Thio shouts, the volume surprising even them. All glittering black and blue eyes turn to them. They lock eyes with the Queen, who looks even more distressed than anyone else. Dryya is her personal guard, after all. “I have things—things that can mend wounds instantly. At my compound, I—“ they swallow. “I’ll be quick.”

And before the last word has left their lips, before the Queen can even ask what they mean, Thio tears off across the fields, feet barely touching the ground and the cool night are freezing in their lungs.

Any mobs that have come from wherever-they-come-from are a blur in their eyes. It’s only then that Thio notices the water collecting in their eyes—tears. 

If they don’t make it to the house and back fast enough, Dryya will die. Nether, she might already be dead. But no.

Not making it isn’t an option. They don’t have any other choice. Thio grabs a low hanging branch to swing themself to the left, landing on the ground again with a soft oof and hitting the ground running. It isn’t long before their clearing comes into view. They jump down the stairs and almost slam into the flush door before it opens into a warm hallway.

They know the layout of their underground base like the back of their hand. The potion brewing room is a long ways down—but the storage room, where they keep extra stuff, is just by the entrance. And thank god it is, because they duck through the door and into the room, which is dimly lit and full of chests and barrels set into the wall.

Third barrel on the right, third barrel on the—there it is! They allow themself a small, almost hysteric smile when they dig out two potions—one splash-instant health two potion, and one splash-regeneration that lasts a few minutes, reinforced with redstone.

It’s only on the way out that Thio remembers with a jolt—the wounds in their own shoulder and side. They’re still bleeding, even if they’re slowly sealing. They regenerate faster than the bugs, apparently.

It doesn’t matter, because they’re already out of the house and tearing through the forest and across the plains. Their heart feels like it’s beating so fast it could explode. But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. This is their fault, their fault that Dryya might be dead and their fault for causing everyone to be so panicked. They have to fix it. Even if it kills them. And since it’s still night, and they just realized that they no longer have a sword? It just might.

The warm amber lights of the camp come into view, reflected off the armors of the sentries and knights who have formed a perimeter around the camp. Thio’s legs burn and their body begs them to stop and eat and aid the mending of its flesh but they keep going.

They have to. They have to make good oh their mistake. They have to make things right.

They blaze through the camp like the Ender Dragon’s chasing them, clutching the gently glowing bottles of liquid magic. Liquid salvation.

The White Lady holds her hands over Dryya’s form, a soft white light emanating from them and glossing over Dryya’s wounds, though they don’t close. Ze’mer and Isma hover over her shoulder, worriedly watching and not caring for their own injuries. Thio skids to a halt, practically screaming for air.

And before either of the knights or the Queen can ask where they went, what they can do—

Thio looks at Dryya, pulls their arm back with the necks of the bottles in between their fingers, and smashes it on the ground next to her.

The world explodes.

Sunset pink and light cherry red wash into the air in liquid waves, before immediately encasing the fallen knight’s form as if they were magnetically drawn to her. Her injuries, leaking clear fluid and scorched from the creeper’s heat. In less than a second, only the regeneration potion’s aura of pink remaining alongside her body.

The White Lady lets out a breath of awe. “Amazing,” she whispers. Ze’mer and Isma watch in amazement as the pink magic slowly mends Dryya’s flesh and shell.

A relived, almost unconscious silence blankets the four figures. Thio, with their hands on their knees and panting hard. They made it. The potions wouldn’t have worked if Dryya were dead—and now, she will live. They made it. They made it.

The White Lady breaks the silence. “What was....what was that?” She turns an awed, inquisitive eye to Thio, who finally finds the capacity for words.

“Health...potion...” they gasp out, straightening up. “And a regeneration potion. She’ll....she’ll wake up soon. I think. I don’t really know how well it would work on a bug....” they trail off.

And suddenly, a pressure lands on Thio’s shoulder, comforting and calm and their mind goes perfectly, wholly blank.

They’re not sure whether to flinch or lean into it or raise their shield—the White Lady’s hand is on their shoulder and it feels so foreign and strange and....good.

“Thank you.” The Whit Lady says. There’s something reverent in her voice, almost feverish. “Thank you more than words can describe, Thio. I care for Dryya a great deal. Because of your actions, she was saved.”

Because of their actions, she was hurt in the first place. The Queen is wrong, Thio wants to scream. They may have saved her, but....but that doesn’t change what caused it in the first place. Them. But the pressure on their shoulder, which finally recedes, is too distracting for them to do anything but nod timidly. 

“The night’s all but over yet, though,” Isma says. “We must return to our stations. Thio, will you please heal me as well, come morning?”

They nod again, this time more forceful, earning them a thanks from Isma. The White Lady scoops up Dryya, slowly heading back to the center of the camp, while Ze’mer and Isma walk away, swords at their side. Thio picks up their own from the grass.

And they’re......lost.

A weight hangs on their chest, like an anvil. Wasn’t it their fault? That Dryya was hurt, that she almost died? And why does their skin crawl now that no one is touching it.

They grab one arm in their other hand, tightening fingers around armored skin. It’s not the same. 

Things were just getting better. But now....Thio doesn’t know. They swallow, as if they could banish the heavy emotion they have no name for.

A drop of liquid lands on their cheek. Then another, and another. The sky opens up from the heavens to pour rain down on them.

They tell themself it’s just the rain. And the warm, salty water on their cheeks doesn’t mean anything. It’s just the rain.

Just the rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thio gets a taste of what it means to be alive and around others. Dryya gets a taste of gunpowder.  
> Anyway.  
> I hope you enjoyed and left a comment! Or else.
> 
> —Steele


	35. Where Do You Want to Start?

The night doesn’t last long. Even with two Knights down and out for the count, Thio, Ze’mer, Hegemol, and Ogrim make easy work of the mobs. And any creepers that so much as show their ugly faces get an arrow to the eye from Thio.

They munch on a potato quickly, the wounds on their side and shoulder sealing up. Sweat coats their face. This reminds them of their first days alive, when they would tunnel a few blocks underground at night to sleep away from the mobs above. That was before they learned to make crafting tables, and by proxy, beds.

The stars are beginning to become dimmer, as a soft pink takes the place of deep violet on the edges of the sky. Blessed morning. That means it’s only been a day since the bugs of Hallownest arrived in the Overworld, right?

They sigh. It feels more like a hundred days. It’s been a while since their days were this action packed, back in the days of iron armor and pre-Ender Dragon.

A pang in their chest reminds them of their mistake, though. Only a day, and they’ve already managed to get someone almost killed. Thio bites their lip. Who knows what might have happened if they hadn’t gotten the potions? The bugs....Thio might not be the brightest, but they know that their body and the bodies of the insects are fundamentally different. In the ways they heal themselves, too. Do they naturally regenerate at all?

The mobs have thinned out almost entirely by now, with Thio falling back to the edge of the camp, where Ze’mer leans on her sword.

“Get ready for the lightshow,” they murder under their breath, glaring pit at the undead figures ahead on the grass. Ze’mer tips her head.

“What does le’mer mean in that?” She says curiously.

They gesture violently at the skeletons and zombies still lumbering around on the fields. “Come sunlight, most mobs light on fire. It’s why they don’t pop up during the day.”

“Ai, what strange things dwell here,” Ze’mer comments. “Che’ does not know how le’mer can live in such a place. Nym’King and Queen also are disturbed. Che’ is glad to have me’hon at her side, so we can dispose of these beings.”

They nod along with pursed lips, trying to keep the look of confusion off their face. They have a feeling they’ll never really figure Ze’mer out.

The sun begins to rise over the horizon, and they give a shout to the remaining Knights to fall back to the perimeter. The sun will do the rest of the work for them.

All of he bugs are tired, it’s easy to see. They’re sagging with exhaustion and moving sluggishly. Maybe they get easily tired, compared to them? They’ll have to ask the King later.

As soon as the sun has let the last bit of light leaving the horizon, and the light washes over the plains, the remaining mobs burst into flames. Rotted flesh and bones burn away into smoke. Thio finally releases the tension in their arms, their sword disappearing into thin air. They let out a breath. They haven’t had such a tense night since....Nether, since before they started building their house.

“Ai!” Ze’mer exclaimed, leaning forward. “Me’hon did not exaggerate! What a flaming spectacle.”

Thio allowed themself to smile at that. They remember the first time they saw the sun save their life by turning the monsters to ashes. They can only imagine how the common bugs, who weren’t knights or fighters, would feel at that. The sun feels warm on their skin, though, and it puts them at ease knowing that they’re safe, for now.

But....what now?

As she could read their mind, Ze’mer suddenly pulls back and speaks. “We should report to nym’King now,” she remarks. “His Light shall want to know what lead to Dryya’s injury. And her recovery.”

That remark makes their stomach turn painfully. The way she says it, her tone is admiring, but.....they don’t know how to put it. It feels like a jab, even though they know it isn’t mean as one.

They give Ze’mer an awkward smile, and hope it’s convincing. “Sure,” they say, slipping their shield off their arm and letting it dissolve into their inventory. “How-how...is Dryya, by the way? Er, do you know?”

Ze’mer shakes her head, her antennae swaying along with the movement. “Nay,” she says evenly, “but le’mer’s magicks seem more that potent. Come, che’ wishes to get this over quickly! Che’ wants to visit meled’lover soon!”

Ze’mer trots away towards the middle of the camp, leaving Thio a little stunned. Huh. They didn’t know she has a lover. They shrug, and follow behind.

Few bugs, it seems, have slept. They all watch with wide eyes as they and Ze’mer pass by, some whispers following. They try not to pay attention to it, but it makes their skin crawl. It makes them all too aware of the way they look, from their strange face and their unkempt hair and their foreignly shimmering armor.

Luckily, for them, it’s not long before they reach the other side of the place, where the Pale King and the White Lady have taken up station. Hallow, the King’s kid, sits next to his....mother? And also next to her, Dryya is laid on the floor, with segments of her damaged armor removed. Her body is gray and segmented, with no traces of the wounds suggestion by the charred bits of white armor laid bare next to her. Her mask, however, is still fastened safely on her face.

Thio feels something he let free in their chest. The regeneration potion and the health potion seem to have worked. She’s fine. Just unconscious. Fine. But unconscious.

The Pale King paces back and forth across the grass as they and Ze’mer approach. The White Lady has her hands hovering over Isma’s injured arm, white bits of light filtering into the wounds and sealing it shut. That surprises them. Maybe the bugs, or the two glowing bugs, the King and Queen, have some form of healing magic after all.

The three bugs who always hang around the King, Herrah, Monomon, and....the other guy, are there too. They linger on the other side of the Queen.

Hegemol and Ogrim are already there, standing at attention before the King, who perks up when Ze’mer and Thio come into view. They’re sharp enough to notice the strain to his posture though, as if he’s tired. They don’t know much about the sleep schedules of royals, but it’s just a hunch.

“Morning,” Thio says, folding their hands behind their head and trying their best to force their face into a lazy expression. 

“Yes, it is,” Monomon says before the King can answer. “I do have some questions to ask, though, concerning the concoction you used to heal Knight Dryya—“

“Ahem.” The King says dryly, silencing Monomon and giving her a tired look. Thio feels like they’ve intruded on something. The moment passes before the King continues to talk. He looks at his four Knights. “Report, please.” He says, and Isma who is now sitting with a bandaged arm, replies first.

“We may have underestimated our enemy, Your Grace,” she says sheepishly. “Both the skeletons and zombies appeared in greater quantities that we anticipated. I believe we will require more armor, and weapons more suited to regular defense against these undead.” 

“Ai, le’mer speaks well,” Ze’mer adds. “Che’s own weapon did not fare well. In fact, nym’Thio’s nail seems better suited and made for disposal of such mobs.”

That piques Thio’s interest. The King’s dark eyes keep flicking to them and back. No, more specifically, at their armor.

“Hegemol?” He says, looking at the Knight with the four-eyed mask. “Ogrim? Do you also feel new weapons are required?”

“I do, Your Majesty,” Ogrim replies immediately, crossing his arms. “Our weapons are suited to infected beasts! These mobs are quite different. And if I may speak so freely, we are vastly underprepared.”

“I see,” the Pale King says quietly, mulling over those words. “My Root? What is your opinion on this.....predicament?”

The Queen looks up, her branchlike horns raising in the air. “We cannot live in this place, unprotected, forever, my Wyrm,” she says. “While I believe we must adapt to this new world, I think we should deal with this living situation, first. Will our new home be built below ground? Or above? And if so, we will need mighty walls to protect ourselves from the night hordes.” 

Her words make quite a bit of sense. Getting better weapons is only a temporary solution, even though the endgame is why they fled from their original home in the first place. And Thio is the only person in the metaphorical room who can help them, whether they want to build walls or tunnel below ground.

And.....that’s a little bit of a heavy burden.

They’re suddenly aware of the King’s eyes on them.

“Yeah?” They ask. He obviously wants their attention.

“My wife makes a point,” he admits, “we do need a place to settle our people. That being said, we must defend ourselves to the best of our ability. You know the materials of this place better than we do—and your own armor is undamaged. Would you help us procure some better materials?”

“My armor is netherite!” Thio blurts out without thinking, “It’s the rarest and strongest mineral in, well, everywhere! It took me ages to get all the materials for it! But.....if you need some iron to replace your armors, I can definitely make that happen.”

Silence.

Yeah, they definitely said something wrong.

“What is...” Monomon says curiously, “iron?” Thio blinks.

“Isn’t that....” they said slowly, “isn’t that the white armor you guys have? Isn’t it iron....?” They are once again met with blank stares and silence.

“N....no.” The Pale King finally says. “The armor that the Knights wear is made of an alloy of pale ore, which is the strongest material in Hallownest. It’s incredibly rare, though I’m not sure how it is compared your “netherite” armor. Is iron what you call pale ore?”

Thio shrugs, blustering. “I have no idea! They might be the same thing—but iron’s third-strongest, behind diamond and netherite. And it’s super common, too, so I’m not really sure. But it definitely holds up better against mobs than....well. What you guys are wearing.” It’s true. The white armor that the Knights wear is dented and scratched by the claws of zombies and arrows from skeletons.

“And how well does....diamond....work?” Herrah speaks for the first time in hours.

“Diamond’s second only to netherite,” Thio explains, “and it’s easier to find, too. Netherite, as the name says, can only be found in the Nether. And you guys’ve been there before, so you know it’s....a little dangerous down there. Diamond is usually what you want to enchant, because you can turn diamond armor, weapons, or tools into netherite with just one ingot of it. And if you guys are going to be fighting mobs nightly, iron is where you want to start. I don’t have a lot of diamonds, but I can help you guys get some so you can upgrade eventually.”

The surrounding bugs soak up the information eagerly. And finally, Thio finishes.

“And if you guys need a place to stay? Well....” they grin. “The Overworld’s a big place. There’s plenty of space. So—“

“Where do you want to get started?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When you think about it, this technically isn’t a game, so
> 
> You can pick up the skeleton arrows.
> 
> Damn, I’m jealous. That’s a bigbrain move. Anyway, enjoy and leave a comment!
> 
> —Steele


	36. Onwards, I Suppose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We now enter an arc more focused on the construction and relocation of Hallownest and the adjacent cultures! This is mostly so Thio can meet and interact with the different leaders and peoples who make up the population—and get closer with other main characters!  
> More of Thio’s past experiences, and their general history in the world will come into play as well.  
> Enjoy and leave a comment!
> 
> —Steele

Hallow watches the Dreamers and the King—their Father, actually, converse with Thio, who explains how the system of armors works. They make an effort to listen, but they’re constantly distracted by the vibrant world around them.

They spent most of the night in the small, underground room with Hornet, hiding away from the night sky. It reminds them all too much of the void, with the stars being the shattered masks of their many, many siblings....

In any case, they can’t take in enough of the new world. There’s so many new sounds and smells and textures, from the unbelievably tall trees and their whispering leaves that remind them of the Queen’s Garden, to the soft, long grass, and the way the sky changes color during the day and night. It’s incredibly enchanting—and dangerous, too.

Once the night had fallen, undead monsters not unlike husks came out of the woodwork. They have nothing better to do than listen, so they know that Father had asked Thio to lead the Five Great Knights into battle against the monsters. And hours later, Mother brought Dryya, unconscious and covered in scorched armor, back to the edge of the camp where they were staying.

This world is beautiful, but also dangerous. And they can’t help but feel indebted to Thio, the shell-less creature with the color of the infection in their eyes. They earlier promised to teach Hallow to read, which is exciting enough, and they had shown them kindness when they feared the sun.

They know that Thio is kind. Even with their poisonous appearance. After all, they’re helping the displaced people of Hallownest.

And Hallow wants to help, too. They’ve been raised their whole life with purpose, but now....they’re not doing anything. They need to do something, to help their Father and to help their people.

They’ll think of something. But for now, they’re content to just watch.

“What kinds of different places does the Overworld have?” The Pale King asks. Thio itches for their grand map, but of course, they never take it out of its place in that room. It has all the biomes and major things marked on it within about a ten-thousand block range.

“All kinds,” Thio says, taking a deep breath and preparing for the spiel they’re about to take part in. “There’s mild biomes like this, where there’s rain and such, but they stay temperate most of the time. Plains biomes usually connect to other mild biomes, and even less extreme hot or cold ones. Such as spruce forests, which are about the same as oak. Or savannas—and judging by how you guys reacted to the heat, you probably want to stay away from the hot ones, yeah?”

The King nods. “Actually,” Monomon interjects, looking interested, “myself and other scholars affiliated with me would prefer a warm, humid climate to build the new Archives in. Being a semi-aquatic bug myself, I require a certain level of moisture to thrive. But it has to be manageable, so as not to damage our written texts.”

They ponder that for a moment. Thio doesn’t really know much about archives, but....

“The swamps should be good for you, then,” they say. “Plenty of water and heat, but definitely not as hot as the jungles.”

“Swamps?” The King asks, and it’s as if he’s realized something. “We may need to use that area to relocate the people of Greenpath—they’re sure to become frustrated if they feel they are low-priority.”

“There’s more than one swamp, you know,” Thio laughs, “and there are some pretty big ones. Actually, I think it’d be a good idea if I went and grabbed some stuff from my house for this?”

If Herrah were a being who resembled Thio, they’re sure she’d be raising an eyebrow. “Like what?” She asks.

“Well, for one,” they say, gesturing at the camp, “I can’t keep bringing food back and forth from by base. I want to grab some seeds and some bone meal so I can get a rudimentary farm going here. That way this area will be a little self-sufficient, at least until we can get your people to a permanent home.”

“Is the soil here fertile enough?” The King says worriedly. They’re....really not sure how to answer that. All soil is fertile, isn’t it? You just need some water and some dirt and you can grow an oasis even in the middle of the desert.

“Uhh....I think so?” They hazard. “I just need some water and some bone meal and it’ll be fine. And considering how many skeletons we took out last night, the bone meal shouldn’t be a problem.”

They get a look from Monomon—the one that suggests they’ve said something that the bugs aren’t familiar with, but they’d rather not get into that line of inquiry right now.

“Al....right.” The Pale King says, folding his fingers. “If you feel the supplies you can retrieve from your base will be of any help, then feel free to. Would you like anyone to accompany you?”

That question takes them aback, but they try to keep their expression neutral. “No, I think I’m fine,” laughs Thio, “I’ll just grab by biggest map and put away my netherite armor—I don’t really need to be wearing it everywhere. I’ll be back in a few minutes, ‘kay?”

“Actually, would you mind if I came with?” Monomon says suddenly, leaving in intently. “Quirrel told me of this marvelous contraption that you have at the entrance of your house and I’d like to—“

“I’m afraid you’d most likely not fit, Teacher,” the King interrupts, shooting her a look that’s begging her to stop talking. “Please let Thio carry out their intentions.”

Thio is definitely sure they hear Monomon calling him so very rude names from under her mask, but she leans back and folds her arms-er, tentacles.

It doesn’t take long at all to reach their base. And honestly? It’s a little bit of a relief to be....alone, for the first time since yesterday. 

They hate being lonely. They hate the all-consuming emptiness that lingers in every fractured portal, ocean ruin, and desert temple they find. Those things that sing about a person, a people who existed before Thio, but no longer. And they hate those days where they just....forget that they even exist at all. But the welcoming silence of their home is kind of a relief—maybe it’s because it’s what they’re used to.

They glide down the stairs and immediately head into their bedroom, disrobing their netherite armor and trading it for an iron chest plate and boots, both with a couple lesser enchantments, that they found in an End City. And they exchange the badly bent iron sword for one of their diamond backups. It glimmers with magic.

Thio darts from end to end of the base, picking up odds and ends as they go. A stack or two of wool, for bedding, some more wood, just in case, some seeds and such and some more coal to replace all the torches they had to make last night.

And last but not least, Thio steps into the room where they rarely ever go. It’s large and well lit, with canvases stretched across work tables and pigments scattered around. They try to ignore a few paintings that lay abandoned, ones with orange and red and white that was obviously supposed to be them.

It’s also where a large map hangs on the wall—their most successful work of “art” ever, if it can be called that. It took them months to make. They glare at it a little affectionately, before carefully pulling it down from its item holder and rolling it into a scroll.

Swamps, jungles, desert, plains and forests and giant ravines dug into the earth, that look like they were made by the claws of some beast even bigger than the Ender Dragon. A little orange sun icon marks their home, a black and purple diamond far away for the End Stronghold.

It’s their pride and joy. And if the world knows what’s good for it, it better not rain while they have it out of base for the first time ever.

It’s that being said, they head out.


	37. I Suppose it’s a Start

When Thio arrives, the King is already deep in thought, still pacing the length of the trodden-down grass space that he and Hallow and his Root have taken as their own. Dryya still has yet to wake, which is concerning. But Root assured him it’s most likely because she hasn’t actually had much sleep in a while, so he leaves it at that.

What an expansive world. Never, in his wildest dreams, did he imagine he would bring his kingdom to a place that stretches on and on in every direction. It’s nothing like the set borders and walls of the underground. To be honest, it’s a little intimidating. But at the same time, exciting.

He may not be a scholar by name and position, like Monomon, but he is inquisitive by nature. And the sheer amount of strange and foreign things in this world is breathtaking. Even during the day, the world echoes with sounds he’s never heard before, and the shapes of quadrupedal creatures that lumber around on the plains. How strange. How strange indeed, but how amazing at the same time.

But though his own magically-inclined senses are somewhat disturbed here, he senses Thio as soon as they emerge from the treeline. The aren’t wearing their netherite armor anymore, instead with a plate of silver-white metal that looks similar to pale ore on their chest and feet. It shimmers with a faint purple glow, which he’s learned means it’s infused with magic. And they have a large piece of parchment rolled up under their arm, their head turned nervously to the skies. They are too far away for him to read the enchantments on their armor, though.

Though, it’s still disturbing to have figured out that their guide lacks a shell. Thio is, of course, not a bug, but that doesn’t make it any less unnerving to see such soft, pale flesh that moves and twists so unnaturally.

They wave as they approach the camp, smiling. “Alright, I’m back!” Chirps Thio. “I’m gonna go ahead and set up a small farm. Make sure to keep people from getting into it for a bit, okay?”

“Of course,” he responds. Though, the King still isn’t sure how they know they can get a farm going here. But, they are native to the Overworld, so he won’t question that line of decision for now.

The piece of parchment draws some attention from Monomon and Lurien, who look particularly interested in what it may be. But it dissolves into white as they walk away.

“What do you suppose they have in store for us today, my liege?” Monomon says liltingly, the honorific on the end sounding more like sarcasm. He does his best not to respond with an exaggerated sigh. He’s long since learned that she gives respect to nothing but her archived knowledge.

“We’ll just have to wait and see,” Herrah says in return. 

Monomon laughs. “Herrah, my dear,” she chuckles, “I wasn’t talking to you.” Herrah scoffs, before responding sarcastically.

“Well, maybe you should be,” the Beast shoots back. Lurien’s cloaked shoulders sag, looking as if he’d rather be anywhere else than in between two childishly warring ex-Dreamers.

Hallow is still sat quietly next to Root, watching in silence. Well, of course he is, the King reminds himself. He never gave them a voice to speak with. A familiar guilt rises in his chest. But perhaps Thio has already acquired the writing tools he requested. Surely, then they can teach Hallow how to communicate.

It comes to mind that he hasn’t exactly spent much time with his child since he proclaimed that’s what they are. They’ve hung around Thio and his Root and Herrah, mostly, the two of them skirting around one another. But it’s not his fault. He’s a king, after all, and he’s busy with the largest migration ever!

He shoots a covert look at Hallow. Yes, once he has some time, he will spend it with them. He’ll be the best father he can be. He just needs some time to sort things out, first. It won’t take long. It’ll be fine.

He watches as Thio selects a spot on the ground, digs out an angular hole, and fills it with water. They then pull a stone farming tool from their inventory, cutting away the grass and leaving tilled earth behind around the water for a few paces, before planting some seeds in each little segment.

They disappear a couple times, presumably to a nearby water source, and repeat the process several times, surrounding the makeshift farm with torches. Before long, a large plot of land has been tilled and sown. Thio stares at it for a moment, but once they’re satisfied with their work, they trot back over to him, brushing dirt off their hands.

“Now that that’s over with,” they say, eyeing him in a way that makes him nervous, “let’s get started here!” They conjure the roll of parchment, kneel down, and spread it across the grass.

And a huge, intricate map takes form.

The sheer size of the area is mind blowing. Monomon gives an excited “ooh” and leans over all of them, Herrah looking down with masked interest. Even Hallow perks up.

Thio taps the map in the middle of a green expanse. “We’re about here,” they say. They trail their finger to a purple and black rectangle a little ways away, in an area that’s bright green and brown. He recognizes it as the shape of the portal. “That’s where the Nether portal you guys came through is.” Several other portal shapes adorn the map at odd corners. Thio must have quite a few gateways to that hellish dimension.

“This is wonderful!” Monomon exclaims. “Why, with this, we’ll find a new site for the people of Hallownest and the others quite quickly. Impressive work, Thio.” Without warning, Monomon claps Thio on the back with a glowing appendage.

No one else would be able to see it, but the Pale King sees Thio’s eyes widen and a slight, contained flinch. Odd. As if Monomon would attack them.

“Er, thanks,” they respond hurriedly, inching away from the Teacher. “Anyway, if you can just describe for me where you want to live, and where you actually can live, I’m sure I can set that up. So....?”

Lurien speaks for the first time in a while. “What’s that blue expanse over there?” They point with a clawed finger at a mass of blue ink in the left of the page.

Thio raises an eyebrow, as if they don’t understand. “That’s the sea?” They say.

“The sea?!” Monomon practically shouts. “I’ve only ever read of it. Hold on—that’s not too far from here! Can we go see it? Not right now, but soon?” Thio looks a little overwhelmed by the barrage of questions, so of course, the King must step in and silence the Dreamers. Again.

“We must focus on the task at hand first, Monomon,” he says strictly, before fixing Thio with an eye. “I think we must first relocate the common citizens. The bugs from the City of Tears and the villages that were within Hallownest. Thio?”

“Yeah?” They say.

“In what biome would bugs who are accustomed, to dry, temperate climates best fare? It should have a fair amount of shade, but light enough to see and live by. Where on here would that be? Assuming that we do not delegate to live beneath the earth.”

Thio tips their head, thinking, and making their messy hair bounce. “I think...” the mutter, “that would be in the plains, like this area. Or in a birch forest. Plenty of sun and rain, and shade on most days.”

“Truly?” Monomon asks. “It’s a bit....hot, here.”

“Only because there are no clouds,” Thio responds, pointing at the vast blue sky. “Which there are, on most days. Then again, it’s up to you guys. There’s a birch forest near here, actually—“ they tap a dull green spot on the map that borders the plains, “which isn’t too far. Sorry, but I’m gonna ask that nothing go on too close to my base and the village. I kinda use this area to test stuff out and build random things. This is also my home, so....” they look slightly wary of what might be said.

“Of course,” Herrah rumbles, nodding. “These are your own lands, after all. We’re the ones who should be asking permission. Not that the Wyrm often does that anyway.” That biting remark is a reference to the tramway incident. He knows it.

“O....kay,” Thio says, looking back and forth between them. “So, what do you think, uh....Wyrm?”

He looks at the map. The “birch forest” they have suggested is rather close to the area where they are. It won’t warrant a large migration again. And it’s rather large.

It looks.....

It looks like a perfect place for the building of the new Hallownest.

He nods at Thio affirmatively. “It looks promising. When do we start?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m back! Sorry for the wait, I’ve been hella busy with school. There probably won’t be much of an update schedule this week, since I’m gonna finish my schoolwork fast before the break.  
> PK and Thio start to form a tentative friendship, PK is a coward and a bad dad as usual, and the site of the new Hallownest is established! Enjoy and leave a comment!
> 
> —Steele


	38. The Intrepid Explorer

Even though the map is safely packed away in their inventory, that doesn’t stop Thio from glancing nervously at the sky for any traces of rain. The light drizzle last night was fine, but they really don’t want the weather ruining their best map, or their plans.

Monomon and the King trail after them, both looking at everything in their surroundings as they go. The birch forest isn’t far from here, but even still they try to walk a bit slowly. All the bugs, including his Royal Shortness, are way smaller than Thio, so they can’t quite keep up.

Except for Monomon, of course, who floats a few inches off the ground at all times. They’ve wondered briefly if maybe, whatever kind of bug she is is related to shulkers.

As if she could sense that she was being thought of, Monomon suddenly inquires with Thio, “What are those four-legged creatures lumbering around? Are they also mobs?”

“Ah, no, those are just....animals,” they say quickly. A few cows and some sheep are strolling about through the plains, in between cave openings and sunken ponds. “Most of them turns to dust when they die too, though. ‘Cept the meat and some of the skin. Both of which have their own uses.”

“Ahh,” Monomon says delightedly, “so that manner of creature must be a food source of yours, then?”

“Spot on,” Thio replies, squinting ahead at the trees across the plains. They can make out some pale, spotted trunks and some peonies on the edge of the plains—their destination. “Look alive!” They announced glancing back at Monomon and Wyrm. “We’re here.”

The King perks up and looks ahead, though they’re too far away to really see much of the place right now. They quicken their pace, just to get their faster. The poor guy looks almost as anxious as they feel.

Especially since last night. Ever since the explosion, this sinking feeling has taken up residence in the pit of Thio’s stomach, like an anvil sitting on their chest. A whispering guilt. And an almost indescribable crawling to their skin, where the White Lady touched them. They’ve found themself clutching their arm or pushing themself back against a tree more times than they can count since then. And the worst part is, they don’t know if they’re hating the feeling of being touched, or wanting for it.

The majority of the birch forest comes into view, as the trio steps onto the border between the vibrant green of the plains and the soft pastel of the forest. Sunlight filters through the trees, casting patterns on the ground that look like glazed terracotta. 

Thio steps aside and sweeps a hand in a dramatic gesture towards the woods, looking at the King triumphantly. “What do you think?”

He stays silent for a moment, considering. “The shade will definitely make for a better environment for the common bug,” he says slowly, squinting into the expanse of white trees. “And the....trees look far enough apart so that clearing land shouldn’t be too much of a hassle. Hmm...” he looks lost in though.

Their stomach drops, the triumphant smile freezing on their freckled face. He doesn’t like it. He hates it. Wither, they’ve failed again—

“It’s perfect.”

Wh—what?

His tone isn’t sarcastic or overjoyed, just...neutral. And kind of....relieved? His face is near unreadable with that mask, or whatever it is, but his voice gives away more than that does, at least. And...he sounds....

Sincere.

“Yes, I agree!” Monomon chimes in, looking intently into the treeline, “judging by how green this whole area is, there’s plenty of water and rain. And the trees....perhaps it’s almost symbolic, of our dear white King...?” She sounds somewhere between smug and satisfied. Come to think of it, the King’s the only bug who really glows, or wears that much white. Maybe it means something, to these strange people.

“G—good!” Thio manages to squeeze out, and they have to resist the urge to wipe the nervous sweat off their forehead. “I’m glad you like it. The forest’s yours, if you want to build your place there.”

The King looks up at them, surprised, which makes them think they’ve done something wrong. “You would give your lands away so easily?” He says incredulously.

“I mean—“ they stutter, “technically, I’m not the ruler of anything. There’s not exactly much here to rule. It’s more like I’m....well, I’m an explorer! I just know the area. And it’s not like I’m planning to do something with it anyway—“

Then they remember something, that they found in the forest a long time ago. A forgotten thing that got lost in dreams of the Nether and messing around with redstone.

No. Not something in the forest—under the forest.

“Something wrong?” Monomon says, who must have noticed their frozen expression.

“I just rem-remembered!” Thio exclaims, “there’s a ravine under this forest! You guys said you used to live underground, right? There’s a hell of a lot of space under there, you could build part of your place there!”

The King’s face lights up. “Truly?” He asks. “That’s....that’s good. Marvelous! Thank you for this place, then, explorer! I think a good name for this place will be...”

“New Hallownest!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m back! Don’t hold your breath though, this was spontaneous. I’m celebrating Christmas with my fam, and my mom’s birthday is today, so I won’t be updating this week. Enjoy and leave a comment!
> 
> Stay safe over the holidays!
> 
> —Steele


	39. Don’t Overwork Yourself

They’ve got to admit. Working on building the village, day in and day out, was getting a little boring. It’s just the same few designs repeated, over and over again!

But now, Thio thinks they’ve got the right to be excited. After all, they’re going to get to help build an entire kingdom!

Already, images of housing projects and different styles of buildings race across their mind. This is going to be epic! The fact that there’s so many bugs, and therefore there’ll be so many homes to build, is a bit daunting. But they can chalk that up to just the nervous bees they get in their stomach whenever they look at the masses of new people in the Overworld.

The King had them place a marker (which was really just a three-block-high dirt pillar) at the edge of the birch forest, to make sure they would all remember where New Hallownest would begin. In fact, the sovereign of the bugs almost looks....excited.

He talks to Monomon in his high-and-mighty voice, but it just barely conceals the elated satisfaction in his tone. It kind of makes Thio want to smile.

The three of them are walking across the fields once again, on their way back to the camp. They feel a little bit more....satisfied, now. If that makes sense. It really doesn’t make much sense that they’re getting excited over someone else’s kingdom and home, but.....maybe it’s just the thought of building it....? Yeah. That’s what it is. Probably.

“—took years to simply build the City of Tears, and that was with my backing. The funds to build a whole new capital don’t exactly exist right now, Teacher. There’s the collection of materials, the refining of said materials, and then the actual building process—“ the King’s voice raises, sounding frustrated and pulling Thio back into the real world.

“Yes, yes, I know!” Monomon says, her voice patient and a little patronizing. Wonder if she’s had to deal with rough talks a lot, since she’s a teacher. “But I hardly think we should be worrying about the economy, of all things, when most of our people have been rendered homeless. I’m simply saying—“ her voice lowers into a whisper, and she leans down, saying something in the King’s ear. He sighs, and nods begrudgingly, giving into whatever Monomon suggested.

They raise an eyebrow. “Everything okay down there?” The short joke is intentional. They don’t know much about....talking to people, but if Monomon’s an example, jokes are one way of calming a person down. Or getting on their nerves. Or both.

The King looks up, exasperated. “Nothing, er, Thio. The Teacher was simply suggesting—“ he shoots her a glare that could kill a man in ten seconds, “that we request aid from you in building the foundations of our new city. Worry not, as I have no intentions of asking that of you; you’ve done enough for myself and my people as it is—“

Wait—what? “I thought I was going to help anyway?” They say. “Since I can carry more stuff—the village is just a side project of mine, it doesn’t really need to happen. Er, well, I guess I assumed that I’d be helping, since I know more about....stuff, up here.” They struggle to keep the disappointment off their face, and the panic from welling in their gut. Maybe they were too rude about it? They don’t want the King to think they’re pushy, or anything....

“My point exactly,” nods Monomon, giving the Wyrm a look that borders on smug. “Since you’re much more knowledgeable about this....Overworld, of yours, it’s only natural that you’d want to help. I was merely suggesting that the dear King not let his pride get the better of him.” Oh, that was definitely an insult, judging by the miffed look on the King’s features.

“I-I guess,” they stutter, letting out a relived breath. “Yeah, I mean—I can help. I’d be happy to! I’ve never built a city before, but I’m pretty good with redstone and stuff, and since I have an inventory, I can carry more supplies back and forth.”

With the combined stares of Thio and Monomon, the Pale King finally gives in, with an aggravated sigh. “Fine,” he says tiredly, walking in the direction of the camp once more. “I will....allow it. But you are not required to help us.”

“Yeah,” they say awkwardly, following. Score, one point to them and Monomon, and none for the King! She shoots Thio an approving look.

They can’t help themself! A whole city. They just hope the bugs like their building. “So, what kind of materials do you want this place to be made of?” They trot up behind the King. The specifics are necessary if they’re going to start in this soon.

“Hmm....” the Pale King says, then he looks away awkwardly. “To be honest, I haven’t the slightest idea what materials are available in this world. What do you recommend?”

Their smile freezes on their face. “Oh, um...” Thio chokes out, looking every which way. Think, think, what’s perfect for a place where a lot of people would love, but is also tied to the concept of New Hallownest? “Oh! White’s your calling card, right? Birch wood is light yellow. Ooh, or quartz! Yeah, definitely quartz. That’d be perfect for you guys?”

“Quartz?” Monomon says quizzically, apparently still wanting to get the last word in.

They nod. “Yes, quartz crystal. It’s found in the Nether, literally everywhere. I have a ton of it already, since I mine it for XP. I think you’ll like it. I can bring some to the camp if you like?”

He nods slowly in return. The camp is visible in the distance, still comprised of shacks of spruce wood and small gardens of beetroot, potato, and carrots. They smile at the King. “Then I can bring some over.”

“Will there not be an issue with the mining of this material?” Monomon interjects, looking somewhat worried. “That Nether place was ghastly, very dangerous. You’re sure you won’t have an issue obtaining these materials safely?”

They look back at her, confused. “Um...I travel through the Nether all the time. I’ve spent whole months there. It’s safe if you have the right stuff, and the experience, I guess. It’s not an issue for me.” But they do remember the first time they went into the Nether. It feels like so long ago, but they’ll never forget being annihilated you every ghast, skeleton, and hoglin in sight. Never mind the piglin brutes....the simp,e thought makes them want to get their shield out.

“Fascinating...” Monomon replies. They give her an awkward smile. Not really sure how to respond to that.

“Anyway,” the King says, as they approach the border of the camp. “When can construction begin? I will have to assemble the builderbugs—“

“Hello there, Wyrm. Done spiriting away our guide? I’d like to have a word with them.” Herrah’s rumbling, stern voice cuts through the King’s voice like cake. She looks over the three of them, six glittering eyes fixed on none other than them. Thio.

Oh, Wither. Everything they’ve done since they met the bugs rushes through their mind, searching for something they might have done to earn that tone of voice from Herrah. She’s definitely capable in combat—Thio has firsthand experience. And they do not want to make her angry.

“We are planning the foundations for the new capital of New Hallownest,” he says firmly, staring up at her. You know, he doesn’t look so imposing and glow-y when seated in front of a massive spider lady.

“I won’t comment on your choice of name, but I’ll only be a little while,” she responds, her voice still firm. They suddenly become aware of a large, metallic sword across her back. Well then. 

“I suppose,” the King says. Is no one going to ask for their input? He nods at Herrah, who gestures for Thio to follow. And they dare not challenge her, slowly walking behind her.

They arrive at the small hole-room they remember carving out for the spiders. Though, it’s devoid of anyone but them and Herrah, right now. She leans against the far wall, eyes still fixed on them.

“Guide Thio,” she says slowly. 

“H-Herrah,” they blurt out. Damn their nerves, getting the better of them.

Suddenly, her whole demeanor changes, relaxing against the wall. She flips her giant sword into one hand and drives it into the stone securely, cracking it. “Ah, don’t be so uptight, little one,” she says, her voice suddenly amused. “I’m no Wyrm-king. Deepnest may have dwelled under Hallownest, but we do not follow their customs. I may be the Queen, but none consider me a god, thankfully. I’ve only brought you here to discuss a place for my people to live, as well.”

They blink. “Oh.”

“Oh indeed,” laughs Herrah softly. Then, her expression shifts to one that seems like....concern. “We needn’t have this conversation now. I simply want to know of an area that would be suitable for my people, being beasts. We do not ask that you build anything for us. Only that you supply us with a place that’s dark and remote, easy to adjust to.” Her eyes stay on them, watching their every move. It almost feels like she’s....studying them, looking for something. And she’s found it, too.

“Uhm...uh...” they bite their lip, looking away from her eyes as if to escape some judgement, “maybe....the dark forest? There’s one not too far from the birch that I have the King, so....I guess that’s be good. I mean, if you want to—“

“Sounds good,” Herrah says casually. “The people of Deepnest don’t need much but some soil to tunnel into. We will do the rest ourselves. Thank you.”

They edge towards the exit. It feels like their thoughts are fraying, unraveling like string. Maybe it’s just because they were scared of her, but Thio would rather be anywhere else right now than under the gaze of this woman, who feels like she sees everything.

And they don’t want to be seen.

“Sure, sure,” they say, voice higher than they anticipated. Do the words even make sense? Thio turns and heads for the tunnel up, waving at Herrah quickly. Maybe they’re hungry? Maybe they’re tired? But they don’t really....get tired?

“Oh, and Thio?”

They stop short, trying to disguise the violent flinch that comes after those words. They turn their head slowly, trying to smile in return. It doesn’t reach their eyes.

Herrah gazes down at them, giving them a look that.....that they can’t identify. Like the one that she had when she talked about her daughter, or her people.....something like....concern. But no, that’s not possible. Why would she—why would she be concerned for them?

“Don’t overwork yourself, child,” Herrah says softly. They nod, too quickly, but they don’t care.

Even when they emerge back into the sunlight, the feeling of hyper-awareness and strange tiredness doesn’t fade. But they push their face back into neutrality, comb their fingers through their hair, and tries not to think about those words, that face.

Whatever that may have meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m baaack! Updates are still gonna be slow, since I’m working on some other stuff right now. Happy holidays to all y’all!  
> Herrah knows what’s up. She’s at least more personable than PK, so she knows what an overwhelmed person looks like.  
> Please enjoy and leave a comment!
> 
> —Steele


	40. Aren’t You Tired of Feeling Sorry For Yourself?

The Pale King is glad to be back to the camp—and to see his wife. He’s absolutely giddy with excitement. Not very much befitting of a King, but at the very least, he needn’t keep up appearances around his Root.

She has taken up residence in a small, trodden-down area of grass, where Hallow still remains beside her, this time accompanied by the Gendered Child. The latter perks up when they lay eyes on him. Though, Dryya is no longer lying on the ground, but instead standing awkwardly next to his wife with her nail driven into the ground. She looks a bit out of place, with so much of her shell exposed without the armor that was scorched away.

She bows deeply at him, to which he greets. “It is good to see that you are well, Knight Dryya. Would you give me and my wife a moment? And please take young Hornet back to Queen Herrah.” Dryya nods.

“Of course, your Light,” she says amicably, beckoning to Hornet, who groans and pouts away. She reminds him uncannily of her mother, sometimes.

Hallow begins to pull themself up off the ground. “Oh, no,” he corrects himself quickly, “you may stay, Hallow. This announcement is for family.” 

They pause, and awkwardly seat themself back on the ground, looking at him with a blank expression painfully similar of their stance before he realized they weren’t hollow. He tries not to frown.

“What is it, dear?” The White Lady tips her head, antlers softly glowing, even in the morning light. “Did the consultation with little Thio go well?” Her eyes are crinkled with a smile, so he’s sure she can read his expression.

“We’ve found a perfect place for New Hallownest,” he says proudly, puffing his chest. “A place not too far from here. It’s exquisite, my Root. And Thio has agreed to help build it, since they have such great abilities—“

“They have?” She says, smile suddenly going concerned. “Why, I should hope they’ve gotten some rest then! Building a city is no easy task. I haven’t seen the poor thing rest since we arrived. I should hope you’re at least giving them time to adjust, Wyrm.”

That catches him rather off guard. “Whatever do you mean?” He asks.

His wife sighs, folding her hands in her lap. “Adjust, my dear,” she says, rather tiredly. “You must know it must be difficult for them to adapt to being surrounded by so many people all the time. Were they not completely alone before we arrived? Have you not sensed their distress growing?”

His eyes widen, taken aback. “What are you talking about?”

She frowns. “My Wyrm, I know I am more attuned to the emotions of other beings.....but their discomfort is not only emotionally. Have you not noticed how they flinch away from touch, and stutter? Can you imagine what the poor thing is going through? They’ve gone from being completely isolated to being surrounded. Honestly, dear, I would have expected you to notice. You certainly spend quite enough time around them to.”

He feels his heart sink in horror. Could-could that be true?

Thinking back on it now—hundreds of instances come to mind. Small things. Forced smiles on their dotted face, shivering in broad daylight, flinching like they’d been struck when they were touched—how could he not have noticed? The White Lady makes a point—how could he not have taken into account that the strange and eclectic Thio was completely alone until they arrived?

And he’s already demanded so much of them, he realizes with a sinking feeling. To guide them, defend his people, and now to build a city......

Gods, he’s doing it all over again. Hallow’s face looms in the corner of his vision like an omen, and suddenly his child and his guide become eerily, horribly, awfully similar. Just like he expected Hallow to be his perfect, functional knight, he also ignored the discomfort of a being like Thio.

And....the King must admit. He’s starting to become fond of them. They are....kind. Kind enough to accept foreign beings like the bugs into their home, share their life, even offer their own lands.....if they were a bug in his kingdom, he would no doubt know of them from some high standing, the exact kind of person he looked for when he was searching for Dreamer candidates.

A person with a big heart. One that he’s choked.

“I-I didn’t see....” he whispers. But when he looks up, he sees a face of his wife’s that looks......

Disappointed.

“Perhaps,” she says gently, “we should give them a break. Herrah seems to have already laid her claim on dear Thio, but....I think that they at least deserve our help, do they not? I can almost taste their distress when they speak, or even when they walk through the campsite. And that....is not normal. I cannot help but....feel sorry for them.”

He nods, swallowing the lump in his throat that’s formed out of nowhere. How could he not have noticed? Is he truly so selfish, so self absorbed that he wouldn’t see that?

Hallow shrinks back, face unreadable. How uncomfortable, that the talented builder and explorer who now assists them is almost indistinguishable from his own child.

And then it hits him.

What has happened to Hallow is his fault. He’s known it, unable to face it—no. Not unable. Unwilling. He’s ignored them for long enough. And it’s his responsibility, his duty, a welcome one, to care for his child. Maybe he, the Wyrm, the Pale King, the King of Hallownest, is a horrible person. For all he’s given for nothing, for his selfish person—

But Thio’s situation is not his fault. Even so, both they and his child are lonely even when surrounded by the world. Their problems are his not responsibility. But he wants to help them—he truly does. That....doesn’t make him a good person, just for wanting well for someone. But it’s a start. And this isn’t about him.

Something fiercely protective rises in his heart—for Hallow, who he has all but destroyed, for a guide who has lived their life lonely and unable to communicate, abandoned by a world that’s magic is so kind.

“I agree, my Root,” he finally says. And he’s surprised to find a new, steely resolve in his voice.

Nothing more comes from either of them, not even a movement from silent Hallow.

But the Pale King, the Wyrm, the King of Hallownest, decides something right there, right then.

He will be better. He will do better. And not for himself, not just to be a good person. For his child, for an explorer he barely knows but already has become so attached to. Because they have sacrificed enough, already. Both of them.

And he will build a world where neither of them will ever have to again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided that since we’re another ten chapter in, it’s time to start using my powers for good instead of making you good people suffer.
> 
> You know the meme “aren’t you tired of being nice? Don’t you just want to go apeshit?”
> 
> That’s this chapter except it’s “aren’t your tired of being self-centered? Don’t you just want to see the people you like and your family being happy and safe?”
> 
> The Pale King comes to a realization, that Hallow’s situation is being repeated with Thio, who he is once again expecting dedication and help from. And while Thio is happy to help, they don’t have the idea of where to stop or give themself a break.
> 
> And to be honest, up until now, it’s all been about PK. The sacrifices HE’S made, HIS feelings. But it’s not about him.
> 
> So he’s going to do his best to make his people happy. Not oit of pity, but out of duty. Out of love.
> 
> Enjoy and leave a comment!
> 
> —Steele


	41. Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING!  
> This chapter contains a detailed description of a mental breakdown/panic attack. If you are sensitive to said material, please either proceed with caution, or do not read this chapter. Do what’s best for you.

Once again, they’re running back from their base, grateful for the comforting ambience of the forest. This time, they have all different kinds of quartz block with them, including some crystals. And a stonecutter in their inventory, just in case they missed one.

The last two days have seemed to stretch on forever. It’s agonizing, compared to the fast days and nights of building and eating and sleeping, then hitting repeat. Thio’s not sure if they want to go back to those hazy days—or that they even want to think about them.

Sunlight blinds them every few seconds, filtering through the canopy. They slow their pace to a walk, catching their breath. They also have some bone meal on them, to grow that farm that they set up. Hopefully, the bugs will become self-sufficient fast, so they don’t have to keep running back to their base. They’re pretty sure the constant use of the flush door is going to make it explode soon.

Still, even as they stroll alone, the jittery feeling in their skin doesn’t go away. It feels like drinking a speed and leaping potion, but with poison at the same time. Permanent bile has risen in their throat, feeling like a wall that they can’t wash down with water or milk or honey.

But they can’t stop. Things have just started to pickup—there’s going to be two kingdoms bordering them soon! They’ve already begun planning the towers and bridges that’ll span the King’s New Hallownest, and things like that. They need to do this. As much as they feel, ironically, tired—they can’t stop.

It’s not just a sentiment. 

They have to.

Thio arrives at the base camp, forces a smile onto their face (which is getting increasingly harder as the hours go by) and make their way towards the King’s little area.

Children-bugs (larvae?) laugh and play around, maybe they’re settling into their lives in the Overworld. But they sure steer clear of Thio when they pass through, offering a smile that gets a giddy giggle as a response.

But when they arrive at the divot in the grass where the White Lady sits with Hallow at her side, their stomach drops.

Because standing next to the Queen, is a familiar figure in scorched armor.

Dryya.

Their mouth goes painfully dry, a moment of panic settling into its home in their bones. And gods-dammit is it a horrible, horrible feeling.

She’s unscathed. The potions did their job. Of course they did, why wouldn’t they? But the armor, once quartz-white, is now stained gray and black at jagged, metallic edges, where the creeper explosion vaporized metal in midair. But the black shell underneath is untouched.

And the words that’ve been whispered to them over and over by their own mind come back, in sudden force.

It should’ve been them. 

And as soon as Dryya sees them, something unreadable lights up in her dark eyes, and the bug-knight lays down her sword, and marches up to Thio. They expect sharp words, like her tone before the first night. A reprimand, even.

But to their immense surprise, the knight Dryya bows deeply at the waist, a stance that’s obviously well-practiced.

“Uh—“

“Thio,” she says, still in her bow, but her tone isn’t malicious or sharp. “I owe you a very sincere apology. The other night, I underestimated your skills and let my pride go to my head. And thus, I caused you to expend your own resources on me due to no fault of your own. There is no higher disgrace for a knight like myself. I ask of you forgiveness, and nothing more.”

Wh-what?

No fault of their own. No fault of their own. Those words ring in the spiral of their ears, like a silverfish worming its way vindictively into their brain. Not their fault?! They would’ve survived the creeper blast. Netherite armor doesn’t yield to ghasts or the Wither, it wouldn’t break under the explosive force of a common Overworld mob. And even if they didn’t—it’s not like death is more than a minor inconvenience.

Not their fault. It’s a stinging, jaded lie if they’ve ever heard one.

Dryya folds up out of her bow, looking at them with glittering, waiting eyes. Waiting to see what they have to say.

But their words have left them. Like when they spend days and days in bed, wondering what real death would feel like, wondering after the End and the Nether and the people who existed before them—their voice has dried in their throat and their vision has tunneled into nothing.

And Thio nods. Expression of forced neutrality, a cracked mask, on their face. Because it is truly, really, all that they can do.

With some silent solidarity, Dryya nods, and thankfully, she breezes past Thio. “Thank you,” she says, collecting her sword from the ground. “I must now go and conduct patrols. I will...see you later.” Something unsaid hangs in the air as she walks away, balance offset by the lack of heavy armor on her right side.

They can’t help but hate themself when they’re glad she’s gone.

That apology should’ve been them. These people don’t know—they don’t KNOW the dangers of the world, and it should be them that has to defend them. They are the one who protects people—people who don’t know what kind of waters they’re stepping into! Not the other way around! They should be the one begging for forgiveness, throwing themself in front of creepers. They should have been faster, should have been smarter, should’ve shot an arrow. Should have, should have, should have—

“Thio?”

A tender voice, soft and full of a quality they can’t identity, brings them back to reality. The White Lady stares at them, eyes creased, and Thio finds that they don’t know the expression on her face. It’s like that of Herrah’s, less than an hour before, but more....soft. Less forward.

They swallow the growing lump in their throat, which goes down painfully and not without resistance. And they force another smile onto their face.

It’s so, so full of cracks.

“Yeah?” They say, but it comes out too high, too loud and broken. The White Lady flinches. “Is-is everything, y’know, okay? I mean—not that it wouldn’t be, you just look-look a little.....out of....sorts.....” the words die in their throat.

Hallow looks back and forth between the two of them. They must sense the tension building, because they pick themself up off the grass and inch away slowly.

They shift uncomfortably. They’ve made this awkward. Another mistake, another “should-have”, to add to their list.

After a long moment of silence and building dread in their gut, the White Lady finally speaks.

“Are you alright?”

And it all.

Comes.

Crashing.

Down.

They can’t breathe, can’t remember what they were doing. Invisible worms inch their way across their skin all over, in a maddening, horrible, horrible feeling that makes them want for nothing more than some blessed, blessed nothingness to crawl into and become one with.

Because they know what they should be thinking.  _I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine_. That’s them—because they are! They have no reason not to be! They don’t deserve to not be fine, after letting people get hurt and every little thing that’s happened that they can’t quite remember!

But a horrible thing that doesn’t have a name twists in their stomach, makes them want to throw up everything they eaten. It yells back, beats at the edges of their skin and bones, pulls their ribs and heart and lungs in like a never-ending black hole. Like the End.

And it pulls at their heart and threatens to consume everything, wanting for a name and a face and to say what it wants to say—

But they can’t.

Because the world is gone and their skin is cold and still and they feel ready to stop existing, stop being, if only to escape those words. Those words, that they have no idea why are so utterly, truly terrifying.

And they need to _get out of here_.

_ Now. _

A hand made of gentle white reaches out, words hurried with concern but muddled as of underwater. They recoil away from it, grasping at the one thing in their grasp, their inventory, that they could use—

A single, cool, smooth Ender pearl. They can’t remember why they had it on them anyway—

But they pull back, facing the over saturated blue of the sky, the endless and empty and crushing expanse, and throw the pearl, disappearing into the nothingness.

They don’t hear the White Lady’s cry of concern, don’t see the worried tears in her eyes, before they go with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all knew it’d get there soon enough, didn’t we?
> 
> I’m sorry if this feels rushed. I think it’s fine, but I don’t really have reference. I’ve never written a fic like this before, either one so long or one so focused on a character’s mental state.
> 
> Please enjoy (as best you can) and leave a comment!
> 
> Happy New Years, my friends!
> 
> —Steele


	42. Alone Together

Of all the terrifying things the White Lady has seen, all the things that have made her pale heart wrench violently—this takes a tragically high place.

Because as soon as the words leave her mouth, the whole air changes. Just those simple words, a thing that is asked so frequently and normally in Hallownest.

AndThio’s face freezes, the painfully fake smile falling like rain. Instead, the color drains from their face, eyes wide and dull and unknowing. Teeth slightly bared, as if they were in danger.

The drop in emotions is like stepping into a freezing room—startling, intoxicating, and undeniably wrong. Such a steep drop, that it chills her every branch to the core.

It’s a silent answer if there ever was one.

They aren’t okay. The White Lady is a motherly god by instinct—one who cares, especially for beings with warm hearts and open minds. Like Thio.

They are little more than strangers. But she does hope that she can know—know how to help them.

She reaches out tentatively. “Thio—“

Their form blurs, wildly throwing something into the air, which soars away. And she catches one glimpse of faraway eyes, dull and unseeing, before a strand sound cuts through the air—

And Thio disappears in a flash of violet-purple light.

The White Lady stares at the imprint of feet on the grass, the place where their guide—in obvious distress—stood mere seconds before.

And she doesn’t wait another moment before calling out with a volume that would startle anyone listening.

“WRYM!”

Hallow has taken up wandering around the campsite. It’s....strange, to be able to just....stroll around of their own will. See how the normal, common bugs live. Though, they guess this isn’t a good example, since they’ve all been displaced.

They wander regardless.

It’s nice. Really. But they’ve seen all of the camp, and with their father’s permission, they’ve started to venture outside the torchlit borders, where sentries and knights give them respectful bows and looks. After all, they probably still recognize them as the “Pure Vessel.”

A small part of them wonders if the people hate them. For failing.

They try to ignore that part, however creeping it may be.

They speed up a little, putting distance between them and the camp. The forest ahead is yet unexplored by them. They plan to amend that today. It sends a shiver down their voided back, the thought of what tings may lay untold in the green darkness. They plan to find out.

Hallow traipses into the wood, weeps and brambles tangling at their legs as they trudge forward. There’s an unimaginable amount of scents, tiny movements, and foreign sounds. It’s so....packed with things, when compared to the barren underground. The part of them that’s still a knight wants to leave. There could be any manner of danger here.

But they shake it away, and Hallow goes forward anyway, deeper into the mysterious forest. 

They wander through for a while. Strange, four-legged creatures lumber around, paying them no mind. Once they’ve gotten used to the insistent whispering of the grass and leaves, it’s peaceful, in a way. Beautiful and vibrant. Vines curl up tree trunks, small, winged creatures pad around, and above all, there’s silence. Well, not really silence, but something similar.

It’s nice.

Until they hear a sucking noise somewhere near, followed by a thud and—

And something that sounds like a sob tears through the silence.

Hallow stops short. The sounds of the forest are so confusing—they can’t tell if they’re hearing that right, nor where it’s coming from. The multitude of sounds in the Overworld are confusing to their well-trained senses. Senses that have been rendered useless in such a strange world.

As they walk forward, careful to mask their steps, the sounds of....crying becomes louder. It’s starts as a few gasps, desperate, almost in denial. Then, cascading into full on sobs of an emotion that’s chillingly familiar to Hallow.

Pure, true, anguish.

It’s times like this they wish they had a voice. Their nonexistent heart twists at those sounds. Though they are incapable of making such sounds—the emotion behind it is.....

It’s too similar. Too similar for comfort.

Whoever is out here crying obviously needs help. They can’t deny that. And they might not be the best example of help, but.....well.

They can at least try, right.....?

A small rock outcropping appears behind the trees, and it must be the source of the sound.

So Hallow swallows (metaphorically) braces themself, and steps around the corner of the rock.

Where the shaking form of their guide, Thio, sits.

Their head snaps up to look at Hallow, almost terrified—their infection-orange eyes are glazed and wet with tears, face twisted with emotion. Terrified emotion. Their fingers dig into their legs. It looks painful.

They gasp, not with but surprise, but trying to mask their pain.

And Hallow is hit hard by something they didn’t expect.

It’s not pity—no. No, it’s.....

Solidarity?

Without thinking, they slide down next to Thio, eyes still on the, with a confused, and scared face. They draw their legs up under them.

A moment of silence and shallow breaths follow, as Thio tries to stop their sobbing. “Um—“ they stutter, voice barely intelligible. “what’re you—I mean, uhm.....” they gasp, body shuddering. “H-hey? I mean, what...?”

Hallow does nothing, still just looking at them as they stare back with a mixture of confusion.

And they do the first thing they can think of.

Hallow reaches out, and pulls Thio into a firm but gentle embrace.

The feeling of warm, shell-less something against their shell is sickening—the touch is overwhelming, somewhat horrible, but they don’t flinch away. Thio has a similar reaction, lurching violently as they’re pulled in.

But they don’t pull away.

Hallow tucks their shaking, same body into theirs, setting their white head in the crook of their shoulder and neck.

And a painful moment of still, strange silence passes, and everything comes crashing down.

A strangled sob escapes Thio’s mouth, wracking their body with a strong shudder, and they sink into Hallow’s embrace, almost desperately.

“I’m sorry—“ they gasp out, through tears that Hallow can’t see. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—I’m just s-so, I’m j-just so use-so useless—I’m sorry, I’m s-sorry—“ they descend into apologetic babbling, the words subsiding into sobs once more.

They clutch them tighter, wishing for words that they’ll never hav _e._ _ You have nothing to be sorry for, _ they want to say.  _ You are not useless. We are the same. I know how you feel. _

And the two of them, both a little alone and a little broken, sit there in an embrace.

For just a moment, alone together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thio got that hug that y’all were on about. Some more angst for you all.  
> Please enjoy and leave a comment!


	43. Heartache

The Pale King is minding his own business. Staring into the open, blue sky and trying to become accustomed to it. It’s so....unfathomably big. And the misty clouds drifting across the expanse only adds to the frightening scale of it.

And then something loud jars him out of his thoughts.

“WYRM!”

He jumps, jerking back violently. But it takes him a moment to register that—that sound came from his wife. His gentle, kind wife—

Something is very, very wrong.

He shoots over to her side, weaving through a couple of the wood barriers that Thio put up—and a small wave of strange, jittering magic hits him. One that he hasn’t seen in the Overworld before.

“What’s wrong!?” He demands, coming to a halt beside her. Where is Hallow, are they hurt? He can’t see them anywhere. How could he have misplaced his own child, dammit?!

His root stares down at him with an intensity that’s shadowed by worry that radiates off of her like the pale light she emits. “It’s Thio—they—“ she casts a worried look to the rapidly dissipating trail of violet-purple magic—which he promptly recognizes as some sort of displacement spell.

And at the name of their guide, the Pale King’s heart sinks like a stone in his gut.

He clasps the White Lady’s hands, the void-stains stark against both their glows. “What happened?!” He demands. “Are they I injured? Where are they? I can check up on them—“ he stops as he registers a strange look on her face, one he’s only seen—

He’s only seen it once before. When he knelt before her and begged for her help in creating the vessels, promised it was what was best for Hallownest.

A lost, tearful face of pure, unfiltered heartbreak.

Her words are soft, contradicting the death grip she has on his segmented hands. A single drop of soul, like a tear, slips from one of her luminous eyes before promptly dissolving into nothing.

“All I asked,” she whispers, “is if they were alright, Wyrm. That was all. They were so....so......” she trails off.

The acrid tang of some negative emotion clings to the very air—how had he not noticed that until now? Has he really lost touch with his emotion senses that much? No, never mind about that.

The feelings lingering in the air tell a story that he can put together just by the words his Root has spoken. A story of a lonely, lost, overwhelmed explorer who doesn’t know how to exist like this.

A part of him feels like—like it’s his fault. Like he should have been more considerate. He slides his hands out from his wife’s grip.

But this isn’t about him. The spell in the air is similar to Grimm’s infamous teleportation, just made of different “stuff” somehow. But the trail is clear, and he can track it easily. That is, if Thio wants to be found.

“Should we—should we give them some time?” He says hurriedly.

“We must find them,” his Root answers immediately, a new fierceness brimming in her voice and eyes. “I fear we have been ignorant, and in ignorance, there can be cruelty. We will comfort them as one of our own. Do not approach them too quickly, though. I fear our friend may be in a....fragile....state of mind now.” He nods along, soaking up as much information as he can. The White Lady is a god who is, at heart, a mother. And mothers know how children’s emotions work. Or, at least, he thinks.

“I will search for them myself,” he says, drawing himself up and focusing in on the trail of magic—before another line of thought breaks that one off. “Wait, where is Hallow? Should we—should we ask them to help?” Gods, how had he lost track of his child again?

The White Lady cocks her head. “They enjoy exploring the area,” she says, “they’re not here right now. But we will tell them if we come across them in our search. They won’t be far from here.”

Ah. Another thing he didn’t know about his child. Another strike against him. Ah, how typical of him to make this about himself! They have bigger matters at hand.

“Please get the Knights,” he says, already whirling around to follow the magical trail. “They can be gentle. Just....”

“Be cautious, careful, and kind,” his wife finished for him, a steely resolve in her voice as she rises from the grass, much taller than him at her full height.

He hisses under his breath.

He may be ignorant. A horrible person, even. But this isn’t about him.

This is about the second person—no, the second child, because how could Thio be an adult having grown up alone? The second child who he’s abandoned.

And he is determined to make it right. Not for himself.

But for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry for the uncharacteristically long break! I kinda got out of the groove of writing, since I’ve been mostly focused on animation/drawing recently.  
> So I’m picking up where I left off! 
> 
> Enjoy and leave a comment!
> 
> —Steele


	44. When You are Finally Loved and Known, That’s When you can Say You’re Home

The search begins with little ceremony. The Knights are assembled, and given a basic rundown of the....situation. Out of respect for their young guide, the White Lady refuses to go into any details. With the sheer vastness of the area, though, a search is hard. In Hallownest, there were tunnels and passages and caverns, and maps to accommodate all of those. Here, there’s just open plain and forest, and above all, far too much space.

The Pale King’s robes swish in the grass as he walks, rather fast, after the quickly disappearing trail of magic. It’s staticky and jittery, obviously a teleportation of some kind. He had no idea Thio possessed such a thing.

Spells like this aren’t built much on intention, so they dissipate easily, leaving behind no trace. If he wants to find Thio, he must do it quickly.

A steady beat thrums behind his eyes and makes him jumpy. Adrenaline. He must admit, he’s....nervous. Feelings are not.....well. He was a fully-formed Wyrm long ago, and when he first established Hallownest, he had to learn how to understand the emotions and reaction of insects. If not for his Root, he may have never learned. And even now, emotions, especially those of such an isolated person......well, they aren’t his strong suite.

He crosses the plains. The magic trail is rapidly disappearing into the forest—that must be where their guide has gone off to. The Pale King breathes a shaky sigh.

He doesn’t know what he’ll do when he finds Thio. Thio, whose distress was so palpable that he could feel it lingering in the area where they had disappeared from. He really doesn’t know. Doesn’t know how to comfort them. He is not....not a....feelings-type person. Heavens, he doesn’t know how to put it!

He presses forward anyway.

The forest is shaded, even in the daytime, and his pale glow is slightly visible among the shifting shadows. Branches keep catching on his crown-horns, snapping head back. This Overworld is overcrowded compared to Hallownest, dammit! 

The teleportation-magic trail is gone. Just as he thought, without intention, the magic disappears quickly, and leaves no trace.

As he gets deeper into the forest, the light fades. The canopy gets thicker and thicker, until he’s suddenly arrived in a permanent twilight.

And he hears something that makes an icy feeling seize up in his core and his hands tighten into fists.

A few yards in front of him, a large boulder, tangled with moss, sits set into the ground. And from behind it, the sound of someone crying drifts, like a mournful song.

The Pale King stills, and he realizes that he never planned for what to do when he found Thio. He only planned to get there in the first place.

But for the first time in a long time, the Pale King swallows hard, pushes down his cowardice, and walks forward.

He rounds to the other side of the boulder, slowly, so as not to scare Thio, takes a deep breath—

And stops short.

Thio sits pressed up against the rock. Their usually pale skin is red and slicked with tears. They just look so....small. Not at all like the proud, awkward person who greeted him from a portal, or the person who gave a new future to his people. But that’s not what catches him off guard.

Sitting beside Thio, holding them in a gentle, soft embrace, is Hallow, with their head resting on Thio’s shoulder as the guide cries softly.

Slowly, Hallow looks up at him. Their long horns knock against gather boulder behind them, as his child turns their dark and unending eyes towards the Pale King.

There’s something behind that darkness—something that he’s never seen in Hallow’s eyes before. Not the expectant, borderline fear of the Hollow Knight, or the contained curiosity of his child.

Just....a calm....something. No, he knows what it is.

It’s a thing called kinship, a thing that Hallow, an abandoned child, has found with Thio. Thio, who might just be the loneliest being imaginable.

How hard it must have been. To live in a world like this alone. There was no one to tell Thio how to use their tools, how to craft and mine and live. They figured it out on their own. And they lived in it, with no one and nothing to comfort them.

Thio finally notices his presence, jolting back from Hallow’s arms, and looking at the Pale King with a nervous face.

“S—“ they try to stutter. “I’m s—I’m so-o—“ they looked panicked, lost, and the Pale King doesn’t need to extend his emotional senses to know that they’re trying to apologize.

And just that fact breaks his heart. The fact that they think they need to apologize.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he says, bending down into the shade. Thio looks startled.

And for a moment, there’s silence, as Thio stares at him with a look in their eyes that he can’t decipher.

And Thio’s face crumbles, a sob escaping their lips, and without warning, they throw their arms around the Pale King’s shoulders.

He freezes, for just a second. Hallow gives him an expectant look, as if to say “go on. What are you waiting for?”

So he lays his hands on Thio’s back. He doesn’t....hug people, often. It’s strange. Foreign.

And....not entirely unwelcome.

“It’s fine,” he says, “you’re fine. You haven’t done anything wrong. I’m....sorry. For putting so much, erm, pressure, on you.”

Hallow shakes their head, and he can swear their face is exasperated. Oh, hell, he knows he’s not good at comforting people! He’s doing his best here!

Thio pulls back, face still red and crumpled. They look...nervous. Like they’re expecting some kind of rebuke. Or they don’t know what to expect.

All three of them are silent for a moment. Alone together, in a huge and endless world that doesn’t mind their presence.

Until the Pale King speaks, softly and kindly.

“Let’s go home,” he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahahah....I supposed I better explain myself.
> 
> First off, I am so, so sorry for being gone so long! To be honest, I really just got out of the habit of writing!
> 
> School has been real stressful lately but I think I’m adjusting. From now on, I’ll try to update at least once a week so I can get back into my groove. I know it was annoying that I stopped writing at such a pivotal moment in the story.
> 
> But, as always, enjoy and leave a comment!
> 
> —Your resurrected friend, Steele


	45. What Do You Want?

There’s still a knot of something unpleasant in Thio’s stomach, as they, Hallow, and the Pale King emerge from the forest. For once, they’re not the one leading the procession, but it’s Hallow instead. They seem to have memorized the paths of the forest already.

They haven’t looked at the King—they can’t. It’s.....embarrassment, they think. The thing they’re feeling.

But at this point, Thio doesn’t know what they’re feeling.

When the White Lady asked is they were doing alright, there was just.....something that broke. They felt like they were being torn apart from the inside. And suddenly, there was a lump in their throat and they needed to be somewhere, anywhere else but there—

And before they’d realized, they pulled an Ender pearl out of their inventory and threw it.

When they were in the forest alone, it was just....a blur.

_ Useless. _

_ Pointless. _

_ They’re all counting on you, but you let them down. You let them get hurt. What do they think of you now? _

_ How do you even talk to these people? How can you possibly hope to be—what? Friends with them? You don’t even know what a friend is, you could never do this without someone else’s help. And there’s no one. _

_ You’re alone in a sea of people. _

It was a blur of hatred, sadness, grasping desperately at any hope. They could have been out there for days and they would have never noticed.

But then there was Hallow.

Thio lets their eyes flicker to them. They stand just a little taller than Thio, especially with those wicked horns. The King’s child. The silent one who they rarely saw. They remember promising to get him a journal and quill to learn to communicate. It all feels so far away, now.

Thio purses their lips, trying to get their face to settle. They’ve cried before. From pain or frustration. It’s easy to tell a crying face apart from any other. They’re hoping and praying they can force a neutral face on, and hide whatever it is that they’re feeling before they reach the camp—

But they don’t want to.

That realization nearly stops them in their tracks. Because there’s a gnawing, desperate something in their chest. They want to run—they want to hide how useless they feel from the world, because what kind of guide is so useless? These people—these bugs are counting on them and they’re letting them down! They want to hide it, to pretend, because pretending is one of the only things they understand.

But...

There is part of them that doesn’t want to.

It’s the part that sobbed into Hallow’s shoulder. The part of them that felt the solidarity between them, almost tangible in its intensity. The part that hugged the Pale King. And it’s the small, strange feeling in their heart that wants to tell them—how they feel and how they want to feel. They want to tell them—the King, the White Lady, Herrah, Hallow—they want to tell them all what they want.

But.....what is that? What do they want?

They want....to not be lonely. To know how to talk to them. To be able to protect them so people like Dryya don’t get hurt. They want-they want—

The camp looms before them, lights and small structures like a small city. And for the first time, something hardens inside Thio. Something harder than netherite, with a resolve that they can’t fathom. 

Something that they would dare to call hopeful.

What does Thio want? What’s that thing that they see in the strange group of bugs they’ve acquired?

Thio wants....they want to be friends.

Yes. Yes, that’s it.

They want to be friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heehoo emotional introspection! I love writing distressed people! 
> 
> So, I did manage to get another update out! I think I’m getting back into the swing of things. So, per usual, enjoy and leave a comment!
> 
> —Steele


End file.
